If I Recalled Correctly

  • by jenan ostrich almost killed Johnny
  • “Ineffable!”
  • used only for hand-to-hand combat
  • circled his thumbs
  • part of me is starting to think maybe I might be kind of ready to think about

Tune in next time part 883      Click Here for Earlier Installments

If I recalled correctly, it was also William Penn XII who started a stampede of the Academy’s livestock that time when an ostrich almost killed Johnny (as John was known in his youth). Was Small Dennis trying to warn me that William was planning an ostrich stampede in the petting zoo? I hadn’t spent much time with my brother-in-law, but it didn’t seem like the sort of thing he would do.

Perhaps I should incorporate the 12 from William’s name into my BareCheeks deciphering? If I did that the message became “Ineffable!”

That’s the sort of word we at the Academy used only for hand-to-hand combat. Surely Small Dennis would not be so bold as to throw a word such as Ineffable around willynilly. I straightened up to my full height and studied Small Dennis’s hands. My eyes circled his thumbs several times before I concluded I had nothing to fear from him. His thumbs were as small as the rest of him.

Was I reading too much into this? Was the BareCheeks cipher a red herring?

Part of me is starting to think maybe I might be kind of ready to think about maybe getting out of the spy business. It does a real number on my head sometimes.

When was the last time I’d slept? Or eaten?

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A Small Leap In Productivity

It was fortuitous to get an extra day last month in which to do some writing, because it at least partially offset the multiple days when stuff came up and we got no writing done at all.

Let us take this moment to pause and wish a Happy Leap Day to all who celebrate.

Leap Day William

We’re making headway on As-Yet Untitled Ghost Novel #2 once again. Not as rapidly as we were hoping (it never is) but tangible, empirical progress all the same. Kent just wrapped up a scene and got a nice start on the next one, and Jen shipped another couple of stubs.

To help us keep up this momentum — hopefully even build on it — we’re instituting a revolutionary positive-reinforcement technology: sticker charts! Henceforth, our access to ice cream will be regulated by how many stickers we earn. That’ll definitely keep us motivated (at least until we find a black market for frozen dairy treats). So we look forward to cranking up our output!

One thing that we need to remind ourselves about is how much work we get done that’s not reflected in metrics like word count. We talk things out, which is real work but has no measurable substance. Recently, Jen detected a possible issue with repetition across several stubs, and now because of some productive conversations we no longer have that issue. The affected stubs haven’t all been completed, but what would have been the point of plowing through them only to end up scrapping and redoing half those scenes later? It’s unclear how the new stickers-and-ice-cream economy of the Writing Cave will take such scenarios into account.

A writing partner is someone who sticks by you 366 days of the year.

As My Classmate

  • by Kentstraw hat bonfires were started
  • I once tried to change a light bulb
  • sexual misadventure
  • stuck an electrified prod up there
  • always wore the craziest shorts

Tune in next time part 882      Click Here for Earlier Installments

As my classmate from The Academy, Small Dennis couldn’t expect me to believe his sorry story. He was probably just counting on me to play along, but I wondered if perhaps there was a message for me embedded in what he was saying to Fleur.

I thought about the numbers he’d mentioned. Six, five, and “almost six”… Wasn’t much to go on, but in light of how he was (un)dressed I thought it might make sense to try the BareCheeks cipher. Which would make the message “straw hat,” which seemed like nonsense until I remembered what happened in my junior year, how the gym got burned down. Fleur wouldn’t know how the straw hat bonfires were started because she wasn’t there. She might have heard the rumor that her half-brother William Penn XII once tried to change a light bulb during a sexual misadventure, maybe even the part when his coital partner stuck an electrified prod up there, but it seemed unlikely she knew all the details.

I was now convinced that Small Dennis wanted me to know something without letting Fleur hear it, probably something about the so-called mission that he was babbling about a few minutes ago. Now I just needed to suss out the rest of the message. Would it have something to do with William Penn XII? I struggled to remember other things about him from back in the day. He always wore the craziest shorts. I wished he was here to lend a pair to Small Dennis.

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It’s Standard Practice on Contrarian Airships

  • by jen“That’s a cute name.”
  • ghostly fingerprint
  • is nearly six foot five and describes himself as a “fairy from outer space”
  • almost six years in prison
  • wish not to be stabbed

Tune in next time part 881      Click Here for Earlier Installments

It’s standard practice on Contrarian airships to have bathroom fixtures made of styrofoam — it saves a lot of weight. What was unusual about these styrofoam potties is that they weren’t attached to the floor, the plumbing, or anything else. What could Fleur be up to with a room full of decoy commodes?

“Put down the toilet, Small Dennis,” I muttered.

“Small Dennis?” Fleur chuckled. “That’s a cute name.”

“I’m not actually all that small,” Small Dennis huffed. He’d been gripping the faux porcelain so hard that when he let go, he left behind ghostly fingerprints in the styrofoam. “Is it my fault my mom married a guy with his own son named Dennis who is nearly six foot five and describes himself as a ‘fairy from outer space’ and who had spent almost six years in prison for assault? He claimed the moniker Big Dennis, and as I wish not to be stabbed, I grudgingly accepted Small Dennis as mine.”

I’d never heard Small Dennis say so much, and I doubted the truth of almost all of what he’d said. If he was trying to prey on Fleur’s tender feminine nature, I wished him luck.

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We’re Up!

Our critique group’s most recent meeting (which we hosted at our house) took us up to the finale of the other member’s manuscript that we’ve been discussing. So, now it’s our turn in the hot seat once again.

Critique sessions are a whole separate animal from having beta readers (which we do, also). There are lots of different ways to run a group, but here’s what works well for us.

  1. choose one manuscript to focus on
  2. the author provides a chunk of pages in advance, and whatever guidance they wish regarding the kind of feedback they’re looking for
  3. at the meeting, each member shares input and suggestions, asks questions, etc. about those pages
  4. avoid spending a lot of time on typos and other picky things

Note that this means no one can read ahead, so the author can gauge how well the clues are working, how readers feel about the protagonist at each stage, etc. It’s up to the author how much to reveal, which questions to answer, and so on. Rune Skelley tends to be very tight-lipped. We enjoy getting the rest of the group trying to guess what we’re up to.

Another thing that’s up to each author is whether to bring stuff in before the whole book is written. We’ve done it both ways, and found reasons not to share works-in-progress for critique anymore. For us, the feedback only muddied things at that stage. But some folks thrive on it, and use the requirement of handing out pages by the next meeting as a motivational tool. Do what works for you.

The best part of any critique group meeting is when members start debating what the pages mean and basically forget that the author is there. As the author, that provides a ton of insight into what’s working and why. It’s also nice when your fellow writers come right out and tell you what they thought was effective, or where they felt something needed more work. Just be sure not to settle for “it was good” — these are your colleagues, so they should be able to articulate their reasons for responding a certain way.

A writing partner is someone who kicks Kent under the table when he’s about to blurt out a major spoiler.

“Are You Referring”

  • by Kent“It’s mostly one-sided.”
  • kisses a human woman
  • he shook it twice
  • caveman eroticism
  • No toilets!

Tune in next time part 880      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Are you referring to the tentacle-mutant shadow warrior project?” Fleur asked in a flat tone. “Please. They pose no danger to Contraria or its allies.”

She had to be lying. Contraria has no allies.

“Who else takes part in this so-called alliance?” I asked.

“It’s mostly one-sided.”

I had to chuckle. That’s the punchline to an old Contrarian joke about a goblin who kisses a human woman — only she’s really just a statue. I knew Fleur had chosen the phrasing knowingly, so I said, “You saying you feel like the goblin’s wife?”

“I should be so lucky. After the goblin kissed that ‘lady’ he shook it twice. That’s more caveman eroticism than I’ve had from you in years.”

Small Dennis interrupted us, exclaiming “No toilets!”

I turned toward his outburst and found him holding one of the toilets in his hands, the other one lying on its side. They were both made of styrofoam.

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I Had Small Dennis in a Headlock

  • by jenruled out butterflies, moths, and fungus
  • eyes did pry and tongues did wag
  • his eccentricities, average looks, and careless dress
  • It was a bizarre message
  • brave enough to pee in the bathroom all by myself

Tune in next time part 879      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I had Small Dennis in a headlock inside the horse costume, when the bathroom door opened and someone entered. Small Dennis and I froze. We were so tangled up inside the costume that neither of us could see who it was.

The only voice that I less wanted to hear than Titania’s spoke. “Honestly,” my wife said with a chuckle, “Don’t you think I’m brave enough to pee in the bathroom all by myself?”

It was a bizarre message to hear from Fleur. She wasn’t normally one for repartee.

“Stand up,” she said, and when we’d done so she unzipped our costume and pulled it off. The fresh air was amazing, but my wife’s incredulous laughter stung.

“What are you laughing at?” I asked.

She pointed at Small Dennis and his lack of pants. “I’m laughing at his eccentricities, average looks, and careless dress. And you, in such a compromising position with him. The last time something like this happened, eyes did pry and tongues did wag. I’m sure you remember.”

Remember I did. It was an exceedingly embarrassing memory, and it made my stomach feel fluttery and strange. I tried to figure out how best to describe the sensation, and I ruled out butterflies, moths, and fungus, but couldn’t pin it down.

“Do you actually have to pee, Fleur? Or do you want to hear about what the clowns are planning?”

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The Land-Speed Record Is Safe

Our recent output has been nil.

We got off a roaring start on Ghost Book 2, making good headway because we were doing a good job of sticking to our schedule. And then, well, stuff came up. Life intruded, which it does all the time, but for a couple of weeks now it’s been downright pushy. We’re fine, in fact it was mostly good news! It’s just a lot.

Not that we can claim that we were straining in the traces to put in more of those solid multi-hour work sessions that keep a project on track. Nah, we got a little lazy and took advantage of having some legitimate excuses.

This week we’re recommitting to the schedule, the lifestyle, the dream. Well, that first one mainly. That’s the key: having a schedule. We’re also dabbling with some ideas about carrots and sticks, and maybe shifting back to composing on the laptops for a change of scene. We have humongous desktop monitors, which can be a tremendous boon to productivity in a lot of ways but can also backfire. It’s too easy to leave scads of distractions open all the time.

A bit of archeology in the files for the previous manuscript suggests that these ups and downs are pretty normal for us, and that our net progress is basically right on track. Which is… good to know. Bit disappointing, though. Now that Kent’s retired, our pace was supposed to increase substantially. That hasn’t happened so far. But we’ll figure it out.

A writing partner is still your partner even when you’re not doing a lot of writing.

Anyone Who Came Upon Me

  • by Kentif the raccoons *did* escape
  • no record of it in the archives
  • life without mayonnaise
  • and everything was frozen!
  • as edgy as a beachball

Tune in next time part 878      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Anyone who came upon me and Small Dennis in the midst of our tussle would have thought they were seeing a dozen raccoons trying to fight their way out of the slipcover for a tacky loveseat. That’s not just idle speculation on my part, but based on how eyewitnesses reacted to an incident at a county fair in Dubuque in the seventies, which one of my classmates recreated with actual raccoons for the Academy’s science fair. She got an A, but if the raccoons *did* escape there’s no record of it in the archives.

“Is it worth all this mayhem?” I asked while being pummeled by Small Dennis’s small fists. “Just to carry on an affair?”

“What? No!” Small Dennis cried. “This is a real mission, and if it fails you’ll need to get used to life without mayonnaise, like back before civilization when you’d get chased by sabertooths and everything was frozen!”

“Are you sure it’s not saberteeth?”

“Just stop interfering.” He dropped his voice to a growl. “Let me finish the job.”

I knew he was trying to sound all dramatic, but Small Dennis is about as edgy as a beachball so I couldn’t take him seriously.

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I Assure You

  • by jenentirely appropriate for you to laugh
  • screamer extraordinaire
  • The weird part is what I *do* with the pizzas.
  • did more than have dinner together. Duh.
  • rub his mouth on my head

Tune in next time part 877      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I assure you, dear reader, that it is entirely appropriate for you to laugh when you picture me attempting to cut my way out of a two-man horse costume using a battery-powered nose hair trimmer. Go ahead and laugh even harder when I tell you my attempt failed. You see, Small Dennis was a screamer extraordinaire, and as soon as he saw what I was up to, he let loose an ear-splitting yelp. While the corduroy costume we shared, and the bathroom walls, would dampen his cries somewhat, I couldn’t take the chance of him drawing Titania to our position. I turned off the trimmer.

“Dude!” I whisper-yelled. “Doesn’t it feel like we’ve been trapped in this horse costume together for months?”

“Yes,” he hissed back. “I could swear we’ve been sweatin’ it up in this thing since, like, November. But that doesn’t matter! The mission matters!”

I sighed. It had been a long time since I’d worked with anyone so dedicated to his cause. “Tell me about this mission of yours.” I hoped he’d be so distracted in the telling that he wouldn’t notice me trying to unstick the zipper. I cautiously slipped my hand out through the hole under the tail.

“I can’t tell you the details, but it involves the pizzeria code. I have to send a message. The weird part is what I *do* with the pizzas. You know, after the message has been sent.”

The pizzeria code was popular among philandering spouses. They wanted their pizza parties to look innocent to outside eyes, but of course the cheaters did more than have dinner together. Duh. My own father had developed the code years before I was born, and he was one of the few to use it outside of extramarital shenanigans (he used it for those, too, of course). Was Small Dennis in league with my evil father? Or just having an affair?

I managed to get the zipper unjammed, and inched it slowly along. I was trying to keep Small Dennis from noticing, but I failed. He tried to whirl around indignantly, but since we were confined together inside a constricting cloth prison, he did something much more like rub his mouth on my head.

He then pounced on me and we fell to the floor in a tangle of sweaty brown corduroy.

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