Tagged: bloodbath

I Had Never Heard a More Convoluted Backstory

  • by jenJust give cash.
  • arterial spray across her cheek
  • when her memory was fresh
  • Transylvania homicide detective Regis
  • put on his best clothes

Tune in next time part 157                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I had never heard a more convoluted backstory, or a more unnecessary one. The plan Heinrich and Svetlana had concocted was really quite simple. Ugly, but simple, like the pig that put on his best clothes to pass himself off as human in the old Harmonious cartoon, “Transylvania Homicide Detective Regis St Oink-Oink Goes to Washington.”

Svetlana got into an argument with the bartender over the size of our tab. I knew that even when her memory was fresh, Svetlana was not what anyone would consider a math whiz, but I also knew that this squabble would likely end with the bartender’s arterial spray across her cheek.

I turned to Heinrich. “Just give cash. We don’t want to leave a trail.”

Heinrich slapped a few bills on the bar. The bartender snatched them up, leaving Svetlana looking quite disappointed.

“Hop on,” Heinrich said, gesturing to the harness under his shirts.

This was the first step in the plan. The hell of it was he wasn’t talking to Svetlana.

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I Sat Amidst the Evil Hypnotist’s Verdant Decorating Scheme

  • by jentheorizing upon the abstract and the unknowable
  • this happens to other people
  • I nearly fell down
  • I know that I shall go mad!
  • recognize these assholes out in the wild

Tune In Next Time Part 54                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I sat amidst the evil hypnotist’s verdant decorating scheme, theorizing upon the abstract and the unknowable, hoping that I would be able to see the green light were it to illuminate.

Minka Stiletto’s low voice purred through the humid air. “I know what you are thinking. You are thinking, ‘this happens to other people, not to me’ — but you are wrong. This does happen to you, and it will continue happening until I decide to stop it.”

I heard the faint chuckle under her words and I nearly fell down into the abyss where she would control me completely. If that ever happens, I know that I shall go mad! I could not raise my fingers to plug my ears because my wrists were still bound.

Suddenly, the banyan tree behind Minka sprouted arms. A second later I could discern the outline of a camouflaged shadow warrior, and a second after that it swung its sword and lopped Minka’s head off. Earlier I had been worried about squirrels, but ninjas were the greater threat. I chastised myself for never learning to recognize these assholes out in the wild.

The fountain of blood from Minka’s severed neck painted the plant life a deep red. It was nauseating, but did allow me to locate the blinking green light that signaled my release from the dead hypnotist’s hold.

Now all I had to worry about was the ninja.

 

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Fletcher Made the Mistake

  • by jenexplosives placed inside
  • regarding the stranger as a harmless lunatic
  • within the system
  • “No grownups!”
  • the sacred lotus flower

Fletcher made the mistake of regarding the stranger as a harmless lunatic, one of those poor unfortunates who can’t really get along within the system of society, but pose no real danger. It was a mistake he would regret until the day he died, even after his mind atrophied and his once magnificent intellect devolved to a childlike state that compelled him to build forts out of couch cushions and yell, “No grownups!” any time a nurse or orderly approached with his medication. The stranger was definitely a lunatic, but he was anything but harmless. The sacred lotus flower he carried past Fletcher’s security post that fateful day had enough high-grade explosives placed inside to flatten a city block, so the circus tent stood no chance. No chance at all.

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Felix is Plotting a Rampage

  • by jenthe plight of the American stockbroker
  • with a long-lost sister
  • dancing the wicked flamenco
  • are they being worn by non-members?
  • he will not hesitate to shoot you, whether you voted for him or not

Felix is plotting a rampage at the school’s Homecoming dance. He’s in the running for Homecoming King, but don’t assume you’re safe if he wins. He’s so disgruntled he will will not hesitate to shoot you, whether you voted for him or not. So go ahead and vote for whoever you think is cutest, or whatever the criteria are for the position.

You may well ask why Felix is so bent on dancing the wicked flamenco of destruction. He told me he is concerned for the plight of the American stockbroker. I think he was being facetious.

My theory involves Felix’s recent meeting with a long-lost sister in which she expressed her horror at the thought of outsiders wearing country club jackets to the dance. Have you heard anything about this? Are they being worn by non-members? And if so, is that a call to arms?

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Kill Your Partner’s Darlings

r-avatarEvery writer has heard the advice Kill Your Darlings. The theory is that the good of the story is paramount, and takes priority over all. No matter how deeply you love and adore a scene, a character, a turn of phrase, if it doesn’t better the story it gets the axe. It’s good advice, but often difficult to follow.

A writing partner can make the process easier, and also more difficult.

Killing your own darlings is a heartbreaking process; killing someone else’s is less so. When you have a scene that you know needs trimming, but you can’t bear to do the work yourself, your coauthor should step in with more objectivity and kill the darlings that need to be killed.

The problems arise when your collaborator is particularly bloodthirsty. When the red ink flows like blood it can be traumatic. Not only do you mourn your dead darlings, you can sometimes feel personally attacked. If someone in your critique group, or a professional editor, suggests striking something you particularly love, you can console yourself with the knowledge that they are idiots and obviously don’t understand your vision. When it’s your partner…

Right after Thanksgiving we finished the read through of the music novel. It had been resting for a long time, so we found we could see it with relatively clear eyes. We saw  a novel with love handles. It really is too long, just like our critiquers said. Right now there are certain love handles that we like and aren’t ready to lop off. We’re exploring ways to restructure the novel so that they’re less noticeable. We’re also making plans to whittle them down. If they do some crunches and wear Spanx, nobody will notice, right?

While we wrestle with the fate of those darlings, there is one section that we both agree needs serious work. Kent wrote most of it, and he has very bravely handed it to Jen, even though she’s holding a butcher knife and has a mad glint in her eye.

Let’s hope she uses the knife more like a scalpel than a cleaver, and that when it’s her turn to hand her darlings over to the slaughterhouse she’s able to trust Kent to do the same.

 

Blood Jets Up To The Ceiling

  • k-avataremptied
  • jets
  • nameplate
  • within the system

Blood jets up to the ceiling from Daggart’s neck-stump, swamping the desk blotter and sweeping the nameplate to the floor, and then, emptied at last, his torso slumps back in the swivel chair as if wearied of exsanguination.

“Well,” thinks Maurice as he wipes his blade, “so much for working within the system.”

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