Tagged: clothes

Accidentally on Purpose

  • by jenI don’t like nose stuff
  • leave her in the darkness
  • much-ballyhooed
  • swung my good right fist full upon the point of his jaw
  • Small Dennis was left extremely disappointed

Tune in next time part 851      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Accidentally on purpose I turned the knob on the soap dispenser instead of the shower. A river of lavender suds spurted out, and Titania and I both sneezed.

“Ugh” she cried. “I don’t like nose stuff! It’s a total turnoff!”

While she continued sneezing, I lurched toward the exit and flipped off the lights, intending to leave her in the darkness — the flowery darkness — while I found a place to write down the much-ballyhooed sauce recipe. Or as much of it as I could remember.

On my way through the bedroom I encountered two men attempting to don a horse costume. (Nigel’s replacement, presumably.) I remembered them from the Academy. They were step-brothers, and both were named Dennis. They bickered constantly over their shared name, and everything else. Why Titania thought it would be a good idea for them to share a single horse costume was beyond me. Right now they were bickering over who would be the creature’s head. I thought Big Dennis would be the better choice, but when he turned to me and snarled, I swung my good right fist full upon the point of his jaw and he went down like a sack of potatoes. Small Dennis was left extremely disappointed. “I wanted to punch him,” he pouted. “I never get to do anything fun.”

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I Caught a Glimpse of Myself in the Mirror

  • by jen“wiggle room”
  • triggered in error by spiders
  • air conditioned, soundproof tent
  • he called it vertigo
  • makes things erotic

Tune in next time part 847      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and nearly laughed for real. I looked like a contestant on “Wiggle Room” — that old Svenborgian dance competition where the music all sounds like synthesizers triggered in error by spiders in the electronics. The show was filmed in an air conditioned, soundproof tent in the Svenborgian desert so that the music and the screams of the dancers wouldn’t disturb any neighbors. I loved that show, but Jason didn’t. He called it vertigo-inducing, as if that wasn’t the best part.

Titania snapped her fingers, causing the nanobots inhabiting my garments to pulsate in perfect synchronization. “That throbbing makes things erotic, don’t you think?” she purred.

I wasn’t sure what was so erotic about wearing two layers of clothes, but I nodded anyway. Anything to appease the Crystal Clown.

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The Infant Talent Show

  • by jengracefully choreographed free-for-all
  • new and pink and chubby
  • presented with a trashcan lid-sized plate of steamed broccoli
  • For years, I’ve gotten drunk and told the story
  • and gloves without fingers

Tune in next time part 823      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The infant talent show turned out to be a gracefully choreographed free-for-all. First place went to the choreographer, a baby girl all new and pink and chubby. She and her mother, Isolde, were presented with a trashcan lid-sized plate of steamed broccoli and a teeny tiny tiara. There was a lot of grumbling amongst the mothers over the fact that Isolde’s baby won, since the talent show was her idea in the first place, but Isolde claimed that it couldn’t possibly have been rigged due to the sheer number of babies she had and how she couldn’t possibly choose a favorite among them.

For years, I’ve gotten drunk and told the story of my own childhood in a family full of twins and triplets, and how the only way I could find to distinguish myself from Jason was to wear a vest and gloves without fingers while he wore sleeves with no shirt and little socks on his fingers. All this squabbling reminded me of that, and I felt sorry for all the also-rans. Every child needs a time to shine.

“Instead of one big dance number,” I said, “let’s let each baby perform solo!”

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After Smothering the Fire

  • by jenchasm of emptiness in my heart
  • “Here’s the masterpiece,” I said
  • “Of course I can beatbox.”
  • always been moderately (and occasionally very) embarrassed
  • nervous giggling, hiccuping, and sniffling

Tune in next time part 773      Click Here for Earlier Installments

After smothering the fire, Tessa dressed herself in the vestments of a Contrarian Ultra-Druid. You might think I would be disappointed for her not to be naked any more, but that just tells me you are unfamiliar with the ways of the Ultra-Druids. She looked more obscene now than I’d ever seen her, so obscene it turned Pamplemousse into a mountain of nervous giggling, hiccuping, and sniffling absurdity.

Tessa grinned when she saw the looks on our faces. “Let’s go get that ice cream!”

As we strode through the corridors toward the cafeteria we passed another of Jason’s bottle sculptures. I have always been moderately (and occasionally very) embarrassed about my lack of rap skill when compared to my brother, and now I kept encountering evidence that he was also better at making found art. Tessa saw my sour expression and immediately knew what I was thinking.

“Darling,” she said. “Can you still beatbox?”

“Of course I can beatbox.” That was one realm where I outshone my twin. I smiled.

“At the Academy you were working on your beatboxing magnum opus. Do you remember it? Could you perform it now? For me? Please?”

There was no way I could deny her anything, especially when she was dressed like an Ultra-Druid. I cleared my throat. “Here’s the masterpiece,” I said, and launched into it. When I wrote it I’d been inspired by my love for Tessa, however over the years that we’d been apart it had gained resonance in the chasm of emptiness in my heart. I wanted to really wow Tessa, so I gave it my all.

I got so caught up in my magnificent mouth noises that I didn’t notice Fleur until we were right on top of her.

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“Speaking of Birds”

  • by jenland one on his chin
  • used only body glitter for makeup
  • “You don’t have to worry about me.”
  • backstory about my socks
  • what will happen if I let myself fall asleep

Tune in next time part 769      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Speaking of birds,” said Zeus Pamplemousse. “Before I can allow any wife of mine to spend time with her manstress, she must train a flock of Moon Owls and land one on his chin.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Tessa and I said in unison. The Moon King’s lunacy was quite remarkable. It reminded me of a teacher at the Academy who used only body glitter for makeup, and used quite a lot of it. He was quite sparkly. Problem being the glitter had a high mercury content, and the teacher went quite mad.

I scoped out the zeppelin’s wedding chapel for escape routes, and found them all blocked by candles. Many, many candles. If we made a break for it, it would be quite dangerous. Tessa saw what I was up to, and the look on her face said, “You don’t have to worry about me.” I squeezed her hand.

“And while she is training the Moon Owls,” Pamplemousse continued, as if we hadn’t interrupted him, “she will have to memorize the entire backstory about my socks — my Moon Socks! — and what makes them so special, and why I can never wash them.”

What will happen if I let myself fall asleep right now? I wondered. Will my dreams be any more bizarre than my reality?

I was ready to run for the exit, but Tessa was distracted, mesmerized by Zeus Pamplemousse’s astonishing Moon Socks.

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When I Saw the Distress on Tessa’s Face

  • by jenI hate this guy so much.
  • crawling in dinosaur feathers
  • breathtaking moment of wonder and youthful experimentation
  • once it’s resting comfortably in your mouth
  • first my heart and now my hand

Tune in next time part 751      Click Here for Earlier Installments

When I saw the distress on Tessa’s face, all I could think was, I hate this guy so much. He should be at home, rolling in moon rocks and crawling in dinosaur feathers as befits his station, but instead he’s out here kidnapping therapists and blackmailing beautiful women. Merely thinking of such things reminded me of my time with Tessa at the Academy. Our first blackmail scheme was a shared breathtaking moment of wonder and youthful experimentation that resulted in several afternoons of detention and the respect of the faculty. I was enraged at this moon monster and his nefarious scheme.

“What could you possibly need from me, Zeus Pamplemousse?” Tessa asked icily.

“Just one simple word, Tessa. You know which one. Imagine it now. Picture yourself forming the word with your tongue. Once it’s resting comfortably in your mouth, speak it. Speak that word to me.”

“Never, Zeus Pamplemousse. I will never speak that word to you.” She plucked the purple silk hanky from his pocket and tried to cover her breasts with it. I was stunned that she seemingly had a history with the King of the Moon.

Before I could formulate a question, Zeus cried, “You steal first my heart and now my handkerchief! You are a foul temptress!”

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Fleur’s Celebratory PJs

  • by Kentappear naked, while not actually *being* naked
  • to mock a killingbird
  • more of a psychotic gangster than a
  • wearing an orange hunting vest
  • “It’s… well, it’s a show tune.”

Tune in next time part 706      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur’s celebratory PJs were a pink flannel catsuit adorned with cartoony fruits. There were exactly three fruits — two strawberries and a nectarine — deployed strategically so as to let the wearer appear naked, while not actually being naked. She licked the cake frosting off her lips, then stuffed more cake into her mouth so she could lick her lips at me some more.

“You seem to be enjoying my mother’s wedding more than you enjoyed our own,” I quipped.

“It’s bad luck to mock a killingbird at a Contrarian wedding,” she purred.

“I think in that getup you’re more of a sphynx cat than a bird.” I should have chosen my words more carefully, because she was a warlord’s daughter and really more of a psychotic gangster than a wife. I assumed she would spin around to reveal wings and give me a lengthy explanation of the symbolism.

She did spin around, but there were no wings on her pajamas and she just walked away. I knew from the swinging of her hips that I was meant to follow, and it was a rather pleasant invitation. I wondered if she would lead me all the way to her quarters, or if there was some closer spot she had in mind. I followed her through a maze of corridors until suddenly I found myself speared by a spotlight on the stage. The band had just completed their set. Fleur had disappeared, and a man wearing an orange hunting vest was handing me a microphone.

“It’s customary for the bride’s son to sing a song,” he said. “A specific song. The lyrics are taped to the stage.” He sounded apologetic. “It’s… well, it’s a show tune.”

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My Ceremonial Pajamas were Polka-Dotted

  • by jenGrandma wore a black, beaded, sequined wedding gown
  • I’m going to remember tonight forever
  • describing him as a drunken maniac
  • jack-in-the-box wound to the breaking point
  • joke about having sex with bigfoot

Tune in next time part 703      Click Here for Earlier Installments

My ceremonial pajamas were polka-dotted, and of the footie variety, with a sash for my medals. I hurried to the reception, wondering about the message on the mirror. Was it true? Could the marriage still be stopped?

When I burst into the ballroom, Mother and John were in the process of handing each other small metal tins. I was too late! They’d exchanged snuffboxes! To make things worse, they were surrounded by my many, many children.

Mother looked at the army of babies and said, “I hope you will all remember that Grandma wore a black, beaded, sequined wedding gown, and that she looked damn fine.”

“I know I’m going to remember tonight forever,” said John with a lewd wink.

I tried to push my way through the crowd to reach them, still hoping to somehow stop things. Mother took up a microphone and gave a toast about her new husband, describing him as a drunken maniac who won her heart in a game of snooker. I was so upset I felt like a jack-in-the-box wound to the breaking point, and that was before my mother praised John’s hairy chest and made a joke about having sex with bigfoot.

“Mother!” I yelled at the top of my lungs. “Not in front of the children!”

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Routine Sets You Free

People become writers for all kinds of reasons, but one thing no one ever says is that they just really love sitting and staring at a blank page. Writers want the freedom to create, to express, to put their ideas into other people’s heads. We don’t daydream about pecking on our keyboards; we daydream about readers saying our stories changed their lives.

Writing takes a lot of work. No matter what kind of process you use, whether it’s formal or informal or utter chaos, it’s a lot of work. Here in the Writing Cave, we do have an opinion about this matter. Our process is pretty formal. Not top-hat and cumerbund formal, but it wears a tie. Lots of people would say that the time and energy we spend on pre-writing might as well be spent on actual writing.

Maybe. There’s no one-size-fits-all solution, so do what you find works for you. But a simple trade-off of one task for another isn’t the only perspective to consider.

The thing we like about having a good process is the predictability it brings to the sitting-at-the-keyboard part of the job. We don’t need to devote energy to figuring out if we’re working on the right thing at any given moment, so all our energy can go into figuring out innovative new ways to torment our characters. The creative freedom lies in being free from the burden of infinite pathways.

The expression “having your work cut out for you” is generally meant as facing a big task. Well, if you’re writing a novel then you definitely are. What that phrase really means, though, is that the leather to make the shoes is cut to shape already — you might have lots of shoes to make, but the materials are set up and waiting. That’s what a strong process gives you.

A writing partner is someone who’ll make sure you have your work cut out for you.

The Groom Turned his Masked Face Back to Me

  • by jenapplied a laser wand
  • “Dad? Daddy?”
  • each guest puts on a pair of pajamas
  • gracious meals and gourmet tastes
  • pretty bananas

Tune in next time part 701      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The groom turned his masked face back to me, threw open his green tuxedo jacket, and gestured extravagantly at the aquarium belt encircling his waist. Muddy green eels swam in circles through his belt loops, past colorful strands of fake plastic seaweed.

“Very nice,” I said. If I understood the tradition correctly, this little show-and-tell meant that I wasn’t going to be stabbed. It was the best I could hope for under the circumstances.

The rest of the ceremony took place in total silence. No music. No speaking. The officiant and the happy couple did the whole thing in pantomime. This was very unlike any of my own weddings. Contrarian rites and ceremonies have dozens of sub-variants depending on multitudinous factors. If I was remembering correctly, a silent wedding meant that neither the bride nor the groom were native-born Contrarians.

After Mother and her beau exchanged earrings, they each applied a laser wand to the wedding certificate, drawing a stick figure man and woman. The officiant took the wand and drew a heart around their doodles, making it all legal.

Fleur appeared beside me. “Are you going to call him Father?” she whispered. “Dad? Daddy?”

“None of the above,” I whispered back.

The officiant glared at us to be quiet. Then he mimed changing his pants while eating something held in his fist. Fleur translated. “Now is the part where each guest puts on a pair of pajamas for the reception. It will be a grand party, in Contrarian tradition, with gracious meals and gourmet tastes, and a table piled high with bunches and bunches of really pretty bananas.”

“Bananas!” A banana buffet at a Contrarian wedding reception meant that the groom was an old friend of the son of the bride, and also bad at cyphers. “It can’t be!”

“I’m afraid it is,” said John, pulling off his mask. “And don’t even think about calling me Papa John.”

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