Why ‘Admiral Cartwright’:
Admiral Cartwright is, of course, a character in Star Trek. At first glance, there’s a significant philosophical disconnect; specifically, in The Undiscovered Country, Cartwright betrayed a racist hawkishness that I do not share in the least. I needed to reconcile the character with the author in a believable way and, thus, a touch of romanticised fiction (adapted from both canon and sanctioned works) was born:
Lance Donald Cartwright hated his name growing up; he preferred to use his middle name and, later, his rank or simply Cartwright. As much as he hated “Lance”, however, he loved his planet and its people—save, perhaps, those who’d bullied him as a child.
As he moved up in rank and station, Fleet Admiral L. Donald Cartwright had allowed himself to be seduced by the “more conservative elements” within Starfleet Command and the need to protect Earth, whatever the cost: Klingons—all Klingons—posed a threat to Earth’s existence and, therefore, ‘peace’ between species was a lie; a tool to be employed in furtherance of the destruction of Earth. There could be no better ‘poster boy’ for the perpetuation of the war mentality than James Kirk, who had lost his son to a Klingon commander and who, in spite of himself, shared a hatred of Klingons. Cartwright perverted the logic that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, and Kirk and his crew were deemed expendable in a plot to assassinate the Klingon chancellor—which succeeded—and derail the peace process—which did not. When the follow-up plot to murder the Federation president at Camp Khitomer was exposed and foiled, Cartwright was among those convicted.
Over a span of five Solar years in prison, Cartwright had an epiphany: the demonisation of an entire species was akin to the crimes committed upon his forebears on Earth. His rationale against any peace with “the alien trash of the galaxy”—extolling instead the opportunity “to bring them to their knees; then, we’ll be in a far better position to dictate terms”—soured and festered, and he began work within his restricted capacity to make good on the damage. When Section 31 got wind of their former colleague’s betrayal, they plotted his assassination. Anticipating this, he reached out to now-Ambassador Spock, who helped Cartwright fake his own death and go into hiding on Vulcan, where he continued his work by proxy.
In real life, I am a male in upper-middle age. My actual existence is and has been far less romantic, with one exception: I believe that all the people of this Earth deserve the opportunity to find love in all its forms, wherever and with whomever it presents itself. My only hatred is of hatred.
When I created Admiral Cartwright the Author in 1999, I had read one too many ‘lolierotica’ stories that were literally nothing more than stroke pieces—not that there’s anything wrong with a stroke piece, per se—in which unabashedly horned-up college coed-types were aged down to create a ‘new’ narrative. (No ten-year-old, for instance, has ever said, “fuck my juicy wet cunt with your big, fat cock!” Unless she watches lots of bad pornos.)
“I can do better than that!” turned into an effort to do better than that.
My only previous experience at writing erotica was Jo and Lexi, a stroke piece involving two grown women that I had hand-written several years earlier; nevertheless, I was convinced that I could offer up far more realistic ‘loli’ stories than the pap being cranked out.
The first legitimate story to follow was My Neighbour, and the response from readers was immediate and overwhelmingly positive. Soon afterward, more authors increasingly showed a similar ethic; whether I had a hand in that, I may never know—but I like to humour myself.
So, I offer my heartfelt thanks to:
those shit stories that moved me to write;
the initial crop of readers that moved me to continue;
everyone from whom I’ve received support and kind words over the years, including BillyG, Celeste, Denny, Fidelius, Frank McCoy, Stephen, Jane Urquhart, and a whole bunch of others far too numerous to mention;
free repositories including but not limited to usenet and ASSTR (and in particular to Rey, et al., for their hard work), without which we may never have gained an audience;
anyone and everyone who posts HTML/CSS tutorials, thereby helping me with the design of this Web site;
Pedro Vila—the political rant that drove A Letter from Your Worst Nightmare was inspired in part by Leave the Children. From it, I finally created the context in which to place a few scrambled ideas;
and, finally, you, dear reader—you were, are and always will be our motivation to write.
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