Sedonia Guillone

I know it’s been terribly long since I last posted. But I am making progress on Blind Love, my novella that is part of a collaboration with awesome M/M author D.H. Starr.

The theme of our collection is “friends to lovers” and in blind love, Hirata, a samurai and his best friend, Sho, who was blinded by childhood illness, are separated when Sho is taken away to apprentice in the healing arts of massage and acupuncture (common occupations for blind men in feudal Japan). However, Hirata has sworn to find Sho when he’s old enough to leave his parents’ home. His long search yields results but not at all what he’d hoped for. Sho’s life has fashioned him into a drastically different man than he was a child and Hirata finds them in what appears to be a hopeless situation. What will happen to these best friends? Will the men they’ve become force them to part ways forever?

I’d like to share with you a snippet and thank you so much for reading! Warmly, Sedonia

Excerpt (unedited. may differ slightly from final)

Sho slid open the door to the house.

Daylight assaulted Hirata’s eyes. He squinted and grasped the doorpost.

“Are you all right, Hirata?” Sho lightly touched his elbow.

Hirata rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger and blinked several times. “I’ll be fine. The light…”

“I understand,” Sho murmured. “I still remember that kind of thing.” His touch left Hirata’s elbow. “Take your time.”

For some reason, Sho’s patience made him feel testy. “I’m fine,” he said and stepped outside. Letting his eyes adjust, Hirata began to see the surroundings that nighttime and his injured state had not allowed him to see days before.
The spot was beautiful, idyllic, really. A small dirt yard surrounding the front of the house, gave way to more lush, tall grass. Only a narrow path was visible, created by the constant treading of human feet down toward the river, beyond which lay forest topped by brilliant blue sky and only a few fluffy clouds. Birdsong twittered from the trees and a light breeze stirred the leaves. The sun warmed his face and body, bare except for the parts covered by his loincloth.

A line of rope tied to a pole stretched the distance, parallel to the path, ending at another pole at the river’s edge. Hirata assumed it to be a line to hang washing to dry until Sho stepped out beside him, grasped the rope with one hand, Hirata’s in the other and took a step. The rope was Sho’s guide between the river and the house.

“Come,” Sho said and gently tugged Hirata’s hand.

In halting steps, Hirata let Sho, also clad only in his loincloth, a washrag slung over one shoulder, lead him toward the water’s edge. Inwardly he grumbled at his own weakness. Weren’t normal samurai able to sustain such an injury as he’d received without needing so many days’ rest and nursing? Did he have to be so different in every way possible?
Glancing up he watched Sho’s fingers slide along the guide rope. His testy feeling intensified. As a child, Sho had adapted to his blindness seamlessly. As an adult, he’d gained even more skills. In addition to being an accomplished healer, he was as deadly a human weapon as any samurai or ninja. Hirata couldn’t help comparing himself to Sho and to every other human being he’d ever encountered. Everyone else seemed to fit somewhere in this world except him. Until last night, at least, after his horrible conversation with Sho, he’d held onto the belief that the fire of love and loyalty burning in his heart for Sho distinguished him as a samurai in the true sense. Now, that too, seemed a paltry kind of joke.

They reached the riverbank and Sho released the guide rope whose end was tied to a pole a mere few steps from the river. “The water should be nice and warm,” he said and, with Hirata’s hand in his, inched down the bank, toward a large rock protruding from the water. The surface of the rock reached from the water to the grassy slope, its edge an arm’s length from Sho’s guide pole and serving almost as a kind of makeshift platform. Ichi-san had apparently set everything up for them perfectly, Hirata thought with a touch of bitterness. No sighted people needed.

Sho took the first step into the water. “Ahh, it’s beautiful.” He tugged Hirata’s hand. “Come, let’s have a bath, then I’ll wash your hair.”

Hirata followed Sho into the river. Admittedly, the sun felt glorious on his back while the cool water enveloped him up to the waist. In his heavy mood, he didn’t want to allow these things to give him enjoyment, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never been truly able to shut the wonder of life out, even in the depths of missing Sho.

Releasing Hirata’s hand, Sho dipped under the water, remained under for several seconds then came back up under a curtain of cascading water. “Ah, that’s wonderful after being inside for days,” he said with an uncharacteristically wide smile. “Go on, Hirata, wet your hair.”

Hirata paused, caught himself staring at Sho. Sunlight made the droplets of water clinging to Sho’s skin shine. Water beaded down Sho’s chest and abdomen, making small rivulets in the furrows between his muscles. Truly he appeared some sort of god in human form, standing there, the water lapping at his waist.

Sho’s smile faded. No doubt he felt Hirata’s gaze on him. “What are you waiting for?” he murmured, smoothing one hand over his closely shorn head.

Wordlessly, Hirata obeyed. He went under and opened his eyes. In the clear water, he had a perfect view of Sho’s legs, the sloping thighs and calves, full of power. Sho had worn his loincloth into the water, but Hirata still caught a glimpse of the bulge in front.

Air ran out of his lungs and he surfaced. Since he’d taken the tie out of his hair before leaving the house, his now wet hair hung heavily over his shoulders. He pushed it back, off his face, his heart beating rather hard. A memory flashed in his mind, of the kabuki actor, Aoki, in sexual congress with Sho, riding him as if astride a horse. Hirata cleared his throat, dispelling the erotic image. “You were right.”

Sho’s smile returned. “Of course I am,” he said, dipping the washrag into the water and stepping toward Hirata. “Neither of us was ever one to stay indoors for any length of time.”

Before Hirata could answer, Sho was right in front of him. “Now, stand still and let me wash you so you don’t keep lifting your arm.”

“Tha-thank you.”

Sho lifted the washrag and sloshed it over Hirata’s back. Up, down, around, with the same caring touch he’d used in all his ministrations. Hirata tensed, in spite of how good the cloth felt against his skin, down his arms, under his arms then…over his chest and abdomen. Down below, his musuko stirred in his loincloth. The more Sho washed him, the more it hardened, rising until it pushed uncomfortably against the cloth. The sensation made Hirata feel oddly wild, abandoned, rather than uptight, as sexual desire usually made him feel.

Sho slung the washrag over his shoulder again and shifted around so that he stood once again at Hirata’s back. “Dip into the water once more time,” he said, “so I can get your scalp clean.”

Again Hirata obeyed and then rose up again. When he did so, Sho reached up. Burrowing his fingers into Hirata’s wet hair, he began to rub Hirata’s scalp vigorously in small circles.

Immediately, Hirata’s whole body relaxed. He closed his eyes and let his head loll back a bit. Sho’s touch was heavenly. And…he thought, feeling wanton again…he wanted it all over his body. Everywhere. “What about the rest of me?” he asked.

Sho’s hands stilled. “Excuse me?”

“The other parts of me, below the water. Don’t you wash them too?”

I’ve been wanting to enter a short story in the Samurai Archives Fiction Contest for years but never did because every time I’ve tried to pen a story for it, it turns into a long M/M piece!

Finally, last night, I worked up the courage to inquire to them whether a highly erotic piece would be acceptable for the contest and they told me that as long as it was fiction set in an unspecified period of Japanese history that should be fine.

Well! I was excited and I immediately entered Master of Ecstasy into the contest. The only reservation I have is that the winning story gets posted on the site. There’s no way that one of my stories can be publicly posted on a G-rated or PG-rated site. lol. Not that I’m assuming I’ll win. But, what if by some great happening, the judges deem my story worthy of a prize? I guess they’ll deal with that if it happens.

Anyway, I’m just happy to have finally entered the contest because I’ve wanted to for, oh, about FIVE years now! Fingers crossed!

Yes, I know this is a poster for Fuurin Kazan done on NHK Television in Japan, and I did watch every single eipsode and loved it. Also, the picture gives me the visuals for when I write.

Which brings me to my current WIP, working title, “Blind Love”. I’m not sure I’m keeping this title, however, it does have good double meaning as you’ll see when I describe the storyline. Here’s a quick blurb and then the first chapter (unedited, of course). Oh, and for those of you familiar with Zatoichi the Blind Swordsman, you will recognize him in his cameo appearnace.

Hirata and Sho were inspearable as children. Their shared world was everything to them. Even when Sho went blind from illness, nothing came between them. Until the day Sho’s parents, wanting their son to have opportunities in life other than remaining homebound, send him away with a representative from the Blind Men’s Guild to apprentice as an anma, a masseur and acupuncturist. Though Hirata and Sho were only ten when they were forced apart, Hirata swears a promise he will one day find his friend. Which he does, seventeen years later after a long journey that nearly robs him of his will to live.

Or does he? Hirata could swear that the blind man trudging into a dice gambling parlor is his long lost dear friend, Sho. But the anma denies he is Sho and denies knowing anyone named Hirata. Yet, Hirata feels in his deepest heart this man is Sho. What happens next could only be the tale of a samurai and an anma who was raised by a hidden swordsman…

Excerpt (unedited):

Chapter One
Edo, Japan, during the Tokugawa Shogunate

The anma, the blind masseur, who was coming to take Sho away, trudged toward them. Hirata watched the man approach from where he stood, Sho on his left side, Sho’s parents nearby and his own mother and father on his right.
The anma appeared harmless enough, dressed in a kimono and cloak, his calves wrapped in gaiters, feet in tabi socks and dirty rope sandals, guiding himself in slow, measured steps, with a long cane. But to Hirata, he might as well be a demon because in just a few minutes, he’d leave again, taking Hirata’s heart with him.

Hirata grasped Sho’s hand. “Father,” he whispered, “there must be some other way.” No doubt, this anma would shave Sho’s hair close to the scalp, like his, dress Sho in one of those ratty cloaks and drag Sho around with him, hustling to rub strangers’ shoulders in exchange for a coin. Sho might not be a samurai, like himself and his family, but neither did
Sho deserve the fate to which both his own and Sho’s parents were tossing him.
“I’m sorry, my son. This is what Sho needs. His mother and father want this for him. He’ll be with others like him.”

Hirata glanced at Sho who stood motionless at his side. Of the two of them, Sho had always been the quiet one, saying very little, revealing nothing. Though they were both only in their tenth year, Sho always seemed much older. Sho couldn’t see the anma, only hear his footsteps in the dirt of the road, but the way Sho’s hand returned Hirata’s grip told Hirata without words, the way his friend felt. Terrified.

After today, there would be no more scampering on the rocks along the river, or climbing trees, or sword fighting with the wooden stocks from his father’s training school. Even after Sho had endured the illness that left him blind, Sho still did everything that Hirata did. In fact, the intensity of their play was heightened by Sho’s sharpened senses, which compensated for his loss of sight. Sho could hear sounds from miles away, long before a sighted person could hear them. And Sho could smell things from great distances, things that only a ninja or highly trained spy could probably smell—emotions. He and Sho were exactly the same age and since Sho’s parents worked as servants in his house, there was never a time he and Sho had not been friends.

This couldn’t happen.

Hirata stepped in front of Sho, pushing his friend behind him, still gripping his hand. “I won’t let them take him!” He glared at his father. Isn’t that what a samurai was supposed to do? To protect the one whom his heart was sworn to serve? Sho might be a peasant, but only because no one clearly saw him. If they really knew him, they’d understand he was more noble than any daimyo, even the shogun himself. Sho’s mother and father stood nearby, watching them. Sho’s mother’s eyes shone with tears but Hirata didn’t care. If they loved him so much, they shouldn’t be giving him away.

The anma had nearly reached them, his trudging steps growing ominously closer. Hirata stepped back, forcing Sho to step back behind him. Sho gripped his hand, Hirata felt, as much for balance as for protection.

“Sho has promise as a swordsman, even though he’s blind.”

“Sho is not a samurai. He’d never be allowed legally to carry a weapon. If he were a samurai, he could fill some sort of office, even with his blindness. But he’s not. There’s nothing for him without the Guild for the Blind. With their help, Sho has many choices. He could end up an anma in the home of a wealthy lord. He could become a composer, a musician, a banker, so many things. Without the Guild’s help, he’s confined to this house for the rest of his life. What would you have him do? Empty our night soil each day? Cook rice?” Hirata’s father gripped Hirata’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, Hirata, if you really care for your friend, you must let Sho face his destiny.”

“His destiny is with me!” Hirata felt hot tears crowd his eyes. He fought them back. He’d never been able to control his emotions as a proper samurai should, and he wasn’t able to do it now. Especially when he was losing his best friend in the world. They might never be together again. “Father…please.” His voice fell to a whisper.

“Hirata, let him go.”

The anma reached them and came to a stop. He bowed. “I’m Zato no Ichi. I’ve come for the boy.”

Hirata’s glaze flew to the older man, whose closely shorn head glinted with silver amongst the ebony stubble. The anma called Ichi opened his eyes, just for a moment, revealing only whites before sliding his lids closed again. Hirata’s heart lurched. If Sho could see this man, he’d run away in fear. Then again, if Sho could see him, the anma wouldn’t be here in the first place.

Hirata’s father, still gripping Hirata’s shoulder, acknowledged the greeting with a bow of his head. “Ichi-san, I’m Yoken Morimasa. I represent the household that turns this child over to the care of you and your guild.”

A new wave of grief-filled terror washed over Hirata. “No!” he cried. Yanking out of his father’s grip, he dragged Sho and broke into a run, off the road, back toward his father’s compound which housed their home, the servants’ quarters and his father’s dojo. Sho tripped and stumbled on the raised stones of the pathway but recovered quickly each time.

Hirata led him to their hiding place, a space underneath the house. “Get under here, Sho.” He guided Sho, who willingly dropped to his hands and knees and crawled underneath the raised platform of the house’s floor and scooted between the heavy timbers that supported the house. Hirata crawled in after him and herded him closer to the center. No one would find them here. Perhaps if they hid long enough, Sho’s parents would give up and let Sho stay.

Hirata pulled Sho close and held him, panting from the sudden exertion. Sho was breathing heavily too.

After several moments, Sho stirred in his arms. “Hirata, I don’t want you to get into—“

“Sh! I hear something!”

“Hirata! Come out right now!”

Hirata stiffened at his father’s voice. No doubt, he’d shamed his father by his behavior, but he didn’t care, not if defying him meant Sho could stay.

Sho squirmed in his grip. “Hirata,” he whispered, “please. I don’t want you to be punished.”

Hirata squeezed him firmly. His father’s voice was drawing closer. Did his father know about their special hideout? “Let him punish me. Nothing else matters.” He bent his head close to Sho’s ear. “The stone can never be separated,” he whispered, referring to their special stone, the smooth disk Hirata had picked out of the stream during one of their outings, not long after Sho’s illness and recovery. Hirata had placed the stone on a larger rock and broken it in half with yet a third rock, giving one half to Sho and keeping the other for himself. As long as they were together, the stone was still complete, even though it had been split.

“I have my half,” Sho whispered. “It’s in my pack.”

Hirata felt the bulge of Sho’s meager belongings stuffed into the pack slung across his friend’s slim torso. “I have mine, too.” Icy shivers assaulted Hirata’s skin. “I’ll never let go of it.”

“Neither will I,” Sho said. “I promise.” He squeezed Hirata’s hand.

In that tiny gesture, Hirata felt that Sho, the wiser, maturer one of them, was speaking, telling him that his father was right. Destiny would reign over them. Not Hirata’s desires. Or Sho’s.

At the edge of the house, Hirata’s fathers’ sandaled feet came to a stop. Hirata clamped a hand over Sho’s mouth.

The next Hirata knew, his father had dropped to his hands and knees and peered into the shadows. “I know you’re both in there. Come out, now!”

The anma’s dirty rope sandals trudged up beside Hirata’s father. “Perhaps today isn’t the best day, Morimoto-san. I can return.”

“No. I apologize for my son’s behavior, Ichi-san. Postponing will only make it worse for both of them.

Hirata’s brother-in-law came running up. “Father, I’ll get them out for you.” He dropped to his hands and knees and crawled underneath.

“Stay back, Ken,” Hirata said, squeezing Sho tightly to himself.

But Ken had never had patience for Hirata’s emotional outbursts even though he always treated his young brother-in-law with respect. He honored his father-in-law more. “Honor your father’s wishes, Hirata. This behavior is beneath a samurai,” he said and grabbed both Hirata’s ankles in an iron grip.

Hirata struggled and kicked, but Ken was stronger. After a short battle, Hirata felt himself being dragged out, bringing Sho along with him in his fight to hang onto his friend.

The second Hirata was out from under the house, he was back in his father’s grip and Sho was pulled from him. Ken pried Sho’s tightly fisted hands from Hirata’s kimono. Hirata’s father held him fast while Sho was led away, his head bowed.
Sho’s hair had pulled from its tie and long strands of it hung loose around his face. His kimono was dirty and rumpled from the struggle.

“If you really care about Sho,” his father said gently, in spite of his iron hold around his son’s middle, “you’ll let him learn his trade. Let him have that dignity, Hirata.”

Hirata struggled, his face streaked with dirt and tears. “I’ll find you, Sho!” he yelled. “One day! I promise!”

Sho turned, his sightless eyes staring in a different direction even though he faced Hirata directly. Hirata saw the track of tears on Sho’s cheeks. Sho waved and then turned, letting the anma guide him back to the road, to where his parents waited to say good bye.

“I’ll find you, Sho. I promise.” Hirata whispered. His father held him tightly until Sho was long gone down the road.

I’ve been so neglecting my blog. But the reason is always the same – since adding the title publisher to my usual job as author, there is soooo much more to do and my blog goes neglected at times. So I guess the best thing is to catch you up on what I’ve been working on and anything that I hope you might find interesting. lol

In the down time that I do have, my man and I have been watching some excellent martial arts films, which, if you know me, you know I love. In particular, the last couple of days we watched Ong Bak 2 and 3 with Tony Jaa, who, incidentally, wrote the screen plays, choreographed the fight scenes, directed them and produced the films. He has a lot of energy! lol. Anyway, they are well written, well acted and tell a real story of a person’s inner and outer journey of spirit, so there’s some depth to them as well.

As far as writing, I’ve been working away on Soy Sauce Face, my yaoi-style novella. It seems that my heart just leads me to write this type of story these days so I just have to give in to the muse and let myself be directed. It seems to work because when I write the kind of story that just pours from deep within, the story is much better and readers enjoy it more. I’ve grown to love these characters, Jun and Tomo, and I’m closing in on the end of the story. Hopefully within this month I’ll have it finished and ready to go through editing.

As far as publishing news goes, my novel, Delicious Love Triangle has gone on sale for a reduced price of 2.99 at Ai Press.

The other big news is the on September 26th, I’ll be hosting a HUGE release party for Ai Press at The Romance Studio. Hope lots of people will come. It should be fun with prizes and good stuff like that.

Well, there’s plenty more but I don’t want to bore you. lol. Thanks for visiting and reading.

I am so excited! Ai Press has a publisher’s table at the Authors After Dark Convention in Philadelphis this weekend and our own D.H. Starr will be at the table signing books! If you live in the area, hope you’ll stop by and meet him!

I love having the same birthday as someone so cool! Not much else to say except that I hope he’s had as wonderful a birthday as I’ve had. As soon as the pics are ready, I’ll post a few of the gorgeous place I went to for my birthday. Oh, and Ai Press just released another HAWT menage from Madelynne Ellis. So, either visit www.ai-press.net for details right this second or please come back soon for details.

Hugs, Sedonia

A friend of mine showed me this cartoon because she knows I love Hello Kitty. I got such a kick out of it I had to share.

I actually used to be quite a fan of zombie films, especially the classic Night of the Living Dead. However, I just got to a point where I couldn’t watch them anymore. I started to get the creeps wherever I went. I know it sounds lame, but that’s the way it is. The last straw was during the first episode of The Walking Dead. I actually was enjoying it. However, the whole zombie thing just finally frayed my nerves. I haven’t watched anymore since then and I’ve been calmer. lol. In any case, I can handle zombie kitty.

What is your personal status on zombies? Creeped out or can’t get enough?

This post is reproduced from my guest spot on Madelynne Ellis’ blog. Right now she’s doing a sexy Advent Calendar which is really fun and cool!

Behind the book:

In Delicious Love Triangle, Hana is a clothing designer. She is a popular designer of of looks for the fashion tribes of Tokyo and works for one particular shop that features her work. The fashion tribes are a phenomena in Tokyo. The various styles originate spontaneously and are a vibrant part of the culture of young people in that city, changing every few weeks, literally. The looks there differ from anything we’re used to seeing in fashion – they’re fun, whimsical and very visually alive, incorporating so many different elements into one outfit. My favorite name of one of the types of fashion is Gothic Lolita. You can imagine. When I did my research for this story in order to portray the heroine, Hana, I went to http://www.style-arena.jp/en/ . However, the story opens with Hana being laid off from the store where she works because the owner’s new wife wants her position. Well, as the story unfolds, Hana finds a new, much, much better position!

In addition to be a clothes designer, Hana is a talented mangaka (Japanese for graphic novel artist). This is an example of one of her sketches.

Delicious Love Triangle

No sex between roommates! This is the rule that Hana and her two best friends, Hiko and Shinji live by. So, Hana decides, it’s not really breaking the rule to ask her two handsome buddies to pose in erotic positions for her while she sketches what she hopes to be the manlove graphic novel that will launch her career as a manga artist. After all, Hiko and Shinji are both straight. Even better, they’re both agreeable to the plan. It’s the perfect arrangement until…

Seeing Hiko and Shinji together arouses Hana to no end. How will she be able to control herself watching their naked bodies entwined, watching them engage in acts that are the stuff of her wildest fantasies? What’s more, bit by bit, the three of them are starting to break their most important rule.

Hiko and Shinji have both been in love with Hana for a long time and out of their love for her, they’ve respected her stupid rule about no sex. But when Hana asks them to pose for her, they see their perfect chance to do away with regulation and get the woman they love into a position of their own.

Content warning: Contains male/male sexual acts, voyeurism, exhibitionism and multiple partner sex.

Excerpt:

Ohhh. Hana covered her mouth to stifle her cry. Then she blinked. Was this possible? Keeping her hand firmly over her mouth she sank to her knees in the hallways and leaned forward as much as she dared. Her heart leaped into her throat. Had Hiko really just rolled on top of Shinji? Were they really naked in the bed together, their mouths locked together in a deep hot kiss?

The soji was slid back the few inches she’d left it when she’d gone back to her room to draw, fully expecting that Shinji would leave after her to go to his room. How absolutely wrong she’d been.

Her heart pounded, sending heated blood down every vein in her body. She could just feel it, like darts of fire. The searing warmth concentrated at the apex of her thighs, which pulsed now, and her breasts felt suddenly full and heavy, her nipples grazing her camisole.

Like lovers, her two friends undulated in the bed, their bodies entwined. Hana blinked again, still thinking the vision would dispel. But it didn’t. Hiko’s muscular body and pale skin contrasted with the tan hue of Shinji’s slim, leanly muscled frame. Shinji’s legs were locked around Hiko’s hips, the soles of his feet resting on the backs of Hiko’s sloping thighs. Like every yaoi manga she’d ever read, the two men sighed and moaned, and
emanated passion.

Guilt assailed her. She was violating their privacy, spying on them like this. But then, they shouldn’t have left the door slid back, right? She started to turn, pulled back by another masculine moan. Her gaze whipped up to the bed. Hiko had pulled from Shinji’s kiss and now nibbled at the other man’s collarbone. One of Hiko’s large hands spanned Shinji’s hip.

The throbbing in Hana’s pussy intensified. She sat, frozen, staring at them, feeling her eyes stretched open as wide as they’d go. Hiko’s tongue came out and licked across Shinji’s dark nipple. Shinji arched his back, as if to push his flesh deeper into Hiko’s mouth. Hana stifled another moan, lest her friends catch her spying. Her cheeks burned mercilessly, both with excitement and guilt, yet she couldn’t have moved even if
someone had set her on fire.

Gleaming ribbons of cum still streaked the two men’s muscles. Hana realized Shinji had climaxed all over Hiko when she’d passed by the door on her way to the kitchen for a drink of water. Hiko skimmed thick fingertips over Shinji’s stomach, gathering the milky fluid. Lifting his mouth from Shinji’s chest, he leaned back. Hana’s mouth gaped open. In all the years she’d known Hiko and Shinji, she’d never seen either of them naked. Hiko’s erection pointed upward with the angle of his body. Thick and veined, it jutting from a nest of inky black pubic hair that fanned around it and funneled into a thin trail up to his navel.

She gulped, her eyes feeling as if they were bulging from her head. She shifted her a few inches and felt then how swollen and moist her pussy was. Her gaze locked onto Hiko’s movements. He was smoothing the cum up and down the shaft of his cock. He gathered more cum and reached down, between Shinji’s legs. Ohhh. His thick fingertips worked over Shinji’s hole while Shinji groaned and arched his back. Shinji was a natural uke, the way he submitted to the man who was preparing to take him.

Finally after three years of writing stories set in Japan, I feel like I’m getting the hang of honorifics, the suffixes used after names. Admittedly, in past books, I’ve made some errors. I’ve used -san where I should have used -kun or nothing, and other such mistakes that make me cringe.

You maybe wondering the relevance of the photo of the little boy. Other than the fact that he’s so cute, the title of the picture is Tomohito-kun, -kun being a suffix used by older people when addressing a younger male.

Perhaps the most important thing about the suffixes is their subtlety. Although there are basic guidelines for the use of each suffix, these honorifics are also incredibly subtle. I’ve found that when I’m not sure which one to use, I just need to take a moment and feel my way into the characters, feel in my heart their relationship to each other and then the appropriate honorific comes to mind. Now, working on Beautiful Samurai, Old Ghosts, when I re-read what I’m currently writing, I feel there is a much more natural flow to the language and that the way they address each other is basically appropriate.

One thing I’ve also read about the use of honorifics and which takes away the sense of rigidity I had when using them in previous novels is the fact that they’re often fluid. A person addressing another may use one honorific that is appropriate to their relationship in one context and then use a different one in another context. Bearing that in mind, I have a much easier time understanding how to use these suffixes and I’ve found that they are a beautiful and very refined way of addressing another human being.

This is my cat, Squeaky Jeter. She came with the name Squeaky and I added Jeter because to me she has a cute little face like the baseball player, Derek Jeter. lol. Squeaky is very smart and can say, “Hello” like a person. She also says, “Wa woo” but I don’t know what that means.