Tagged: dog

“I Was Not Talking About the Corgi Robot”

  • by jenwith a giant candy cane
  • made entirely of mirrors and ice
  • down around her ankles
  • ice cream overflows onto the floor
  • all the shaving cream was gone

Tune in next time part 761      Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I was not talking about the corgi robot,” I said, hoping to distract Pamplemousse long enough that Tessa could wriggle free. There was no way she would want to wear the Moon harem uniform: red fishnet stockings and shoes with a giant candy cane striped heel, and a ribbon in her hair. There was no way she would want to live in a Moon palace made entirely of mirrors and ice. Pamplemousse’s Moonbots were so small they would be down around her ankles when she wore the candy cane shoes, and in danger of drowning when the ice cream overflows onto the floor of the cafeteria when someone forgets to turn off the soft-serve machine. Things like that happen all the time at his Moon Palace, which is why he doesn’t live there. Just last week the Lunar Gazette had a headline about someone leaving a tap open in the barbershop and how all the shaving cream was gone. Imagine a moon palace with no shaving cream! I had no doubt Tessa would never choose to live in such a hellhole. “I was not talking about the corgi robot at all.”

bonus points for using them in order

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

How to be a Bad Writing Partner

Sometimes, despite everyone’s best intentions, a writing partnership doesn’t work. Maybe you can’t agree on what genre you want to write in. Maybe you have vastly different ideas about how gritty your prose will be. Perhaps one of you wants to write in first person while the other wants to use third person omniscient. Or maybe one of you sneaks into the Auxiliary Writing Cave and chews up the timeline. Or the other other one of you walks back and forth across the plot rainbow while wagging your tail, scattering the carefully constructed grid into chaos. What we’re saying is, maybe dogs don’t make the best writing partners.

Lady Marzipan and the Bandit Lord are great at getting us out of the house for a daily walk-and-talk that would make Aaron Sorkin proud, but beyond that they’re pretty lousy writing partners. They insist upon pats and belly rubs, which keeps us from typing. The Bandit Lord enjoys lap time at our desks, but only if he can monopolize at least one hand, again interfering with typing. They both enjoy snuggling on the sofa while we brainstorm, but get offended if we need to move in order to reach a notebook or laptop.

We even need to use restraint when reading our work aloud. The Bandit Lord is a very sensitive young man, and if Kent puts any emotion into a scene where a character is mad or upset, he gets very concerned. Lady Marzipan once stretched very exuberantly and managed to poke the power button of our battery backup with her toenail, crashing both computers instantly.

On top of all that, they’re lousy editors.

Despite the nightmarish conditions here at SkelleyCo Amalgamated Fiction Enterprises, we’re actually ridiculously fond of our furry tyrants and wouldn’t trade them for any other writing partners. We’ll just have to start using the baby gate to keep our papers safe.

 

The Bandit Lord hard at work at his desk.
Lady Marzipan in a staring contest with her laptop.

If the Mime My Brother was Wrestling With had Any Hope of Escape

  • by jenbetter take cover
  • “Should I put my shoes back on?”
  • mere pinpricks
  • orgies are poorly designed experiments
  • use it in a rap song

Tune in next time part 421      Click Here for Earlier Installments

If the mime my brother was wrestling with had any hope of escape, she’d better take covert action, but mimes in general aren’t that well-trained tactically. This one was no exception. She soon took a needle to the neck and slumped in Jim’s arms.

Jem and Jem introduced some new steps to their writhing cobra yoga, circling around the herd of mimes and bunching them together like livestock. Working in unison like lithe corgis, they danced the group into the supply closet and slammed the door behind them.

“Finally,” said Jemma.

“Should I put my shoes back on?” asked Jemima.

“No need,”Jim drawled. “This is a pretty good place to hide out for a while.”

“Anyone want to untie me?” I asked. In truth my tape bonds were loose enough that I could escape if necessary, but I wanted to see how my siblings would treat me now that the mime threat had been neutralized. Were their consciences more than mere pinpricks?

Clyde was still in my lap, still “woofing” at me. Jim scooped him up and put him in a cage that had probably once held an army of lab rats. Jemma got a scalpel from a dissecting tray and began sawing through all the tape around my wrists. At least she was on my side.

Jemima, still barefoot, was reading the lab notes splayed on the worktop. She snorted. “Mime orgies are poorly designed experiments. No scientific rigor! Look at this.” She waved the disturbingly detailed sketches in my face. “What do you think Jason? Can you use it in a rap song?”

bonus points for using them in order

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

What Jim’s Camera Couldn’t Capture

  • by Kentpure, undiluted flopsweat
  • a twisted petting zoo
  • I want to think the best of everyone
  • Apart from the masks
  • at his haunted castle

Tune in next time part 418      Click Here for Earlier Installments

What Jim’s camera couldn’t capture was my pure, undiluted flopsweat at the idea that this mime dog’s trainer might be in this very room, a twisted petting zoo where Clyde, the sole exhibit, was perched in my lap. Nobody who knows me would expect that I want to think the best of everyone, but I certainly want to think better of just about everyone than I thought of that mega-mime.

“Jim,” I said in a shaky voice, almost forgetting to lisp, “are you sure you know what you’re doing? Have you really considered all the angles here?”

“There is only one angle, dear brother,” Jim purred. “The right angle. That’s the one I’m workin’. And when Domino sees these pictures, he’ll know I’m not messin’ around.”

Domino, the Lord Carnevale? Apart from the masks, his troopers were just as creepy and overly dramatic as mimes. He trained them at his haunted castle and sent out leaflets now and then threatening to sic them on the unsuspecting populace. Meanwhile, the rumors about his unseemly bond with Clyde were evidently not without some basis.

The knockout gas had almost worn off. “I thought this was about my sem–” I cleared my throat. “My brother’s semen. Why get yet another faction riled up about it? I mean,” I dropped my voice a bit, “it’s bad enough you’re mixed up with the pantomime contingent. What’s happening to this family?”

bonus points for using them in order

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

The Dog Ate My Homework

Our house is overrun with adorable furry demons whose job it is to make it difficult for us to accomplish our writing goals. When the Bandit Lord is not pulling us away from the Writing Cave for a potty break, Lady Marzipan is barking at mysterious intruders only she can sense.

We spend a good deal of time now refereeing the canine drag races that occur in our hallway, and around our sofas, and under the dining room table, then back through the kitchen and down the hallway, with a quick detour into the futon room and back again, around and around. We also spend a good deal of time convincing his Lordship that he shouldn’t chew on the molding, and cleaning up the soggy confetti that he makes out of the cardboard he is allowed to chew on.

And now, instead of just eating up all of our valuable writing time, they’ve moved on to eating our actual writing. We talked before about setting up our new plot rainbow on the table in the dining room, and how well that was working. But then we made the mistake of leaving the sliding door open for a while and the wind (it must have been the wind and not Lady Marzipan’s tail) blew a few of our colorful squares onto the floor. Where they were promptly confetti-ized.

Jen made replacements. It happened again. Sigh.

With visitors coming this weekend we had to clear the table off, so the rainbow is currently safe in a neat pile, secured with a rubber band. The next time we spread it out we’ll have to get clever, buy a couple dozen little paperweights or something.

In the meantime, we bow to the whims of our merciless overlords. Just look at them — so intimidating!

Our Nest Feels Empty

There’s a certain silence in the Writing Cave these days. Fewer characters are clamoring for attention, plot complications are down by a third, our writing lives have fewer distractions. And yet, the feeling is bittersweet.

As we mentioned last week, we’ve just released the final book (so far) in our Divided Man series. We’ve been living with Fin and Rook and their friends, family, and enemies for a long time and it’s distinctly weird to be done with them. That parenthetical “so far” up there at the top of this paragraph hints at our separation anxiety. Maybe we aren’t entirely ready to let go of the Tanners after all.

It feels a little like sending our kids off to college. We prepared them as best we could, and when the time came we launched them out into the world. We miss them, and the house feels distinctly empty without them around, but it was time for them to strike out on their own, to make their own marks.

New characters will come along to fill the void left by the Tanners and Tenpennys and talking lava lamps, it will just take a while for us to get to know them and become attached to them in the same way.

When our sons left home, we got a dog. Is it a coincidence that now that our first series is complete we’re talking about getting another?

The Helicopter Ride

  • k-avatar“This is church! No kissing allowed here!”
  • be glad you’re not me
  • the Rhode Island coastline
  • unlimited plenty and moon colonies
  • to enhance its size

Tune In Next Time Part 41                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The helicopter ride was as bumpy as promised, despite Lyudmila’s piloting expertise. Time and Trouble wouldn’t stay out of my lap, jumping to lick my face. She laughed, but she still looked sad over the mess she was in with the Alliance. Seeing me studying her eyes, she said, “Be glad you’re not me.”

Distracted by the rambunctious pinschers, I didn’t even notice how long we were flying until the Rhode Island coastline came into view below us. “Where are we going?” I asked.

“Jason has made contact with a splinter cell of ninja pirates, who long for a more progressive world, a world of unlimited plenty and moon colonies. They are a small group now, but our arrival will help to enhance its size.”

We had landed in a parking lot about a block from the shoreline, and hurried into the quaint building before the rotors had even come to rest. Once inside and out of sight, Lyudmila’s heavy breathing in the dim space overwhelmed me and I swept her into my arms. As our faces converged, we were accosted by a man wearing a velour cassock and a broad hat with a peacock feather plume.

Jason lisped, “This is church! No kissing allowed here!”

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

After Wiping Her Tears On Her Sleeve

  • by jenare grossly underrepresented
  • save trouble and time for me
  • he would never have wings
  • curio shop in Baltimore
  • attract the attention of the young gentlemen

Tune In Next Time Part 40                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

After wiping her tears on her sleeve, Lyudmila explained. “You know how women are grossly underrepresented among the ranks of both ninjas and pirates? When Thor got that hiring quota legislation passed, I applied to both.”

A supremely bad idea, I knew. The Pirate Ninja Alliance was still in its infancy, and there was much distrust between the two factions. By applying to both she might appear as a double agent, especially if her connection to John were known. “How’d that work out?” I asked, knowing the answer would be convoluted.

I was not wrong.

Lyudmila grabbed my hand and hustled me through the back halls of the White House as she filled me in.

“… so then John had to save Trouble and Time for me,” she said. Trouble and Time were her matching Miniature Pinschers, kidnapped by Jorgenson earlier in her sprawling tale. “You know how John was, before he and Tessa got together and she made him get his shit together. He would never have wings in his backpack, or a parasail or anything, so he had to go to this little curio shop in Baltimore and buy a pair of reproduction Da Vinci strap-ons, and then glide out to where Jorgenson’s ship was moored.”

We climbed the narrow back stairs as she talked, my wrist in her vise-like grip. We emerged onto the roof, a two-seater helicopter waiting in the shadows.

Lyudmila pulled a tiny steel whistle from her cleavage and gave an inaudible toot. From the helicopter sprang Trouble and Time. The two small dogs pranced into the moonlight and yipped to attract the attention of the young gentlemen who were supposed to be standing guard.

A quick, silent sprint, and Lyudmila and I were in the helicopter. She was in the pilot seat. Once more she blew her whistle, calling her dogs back. The guards pulled their weapons, but as we lifted off I tossed the velvet cape from my Jason costume out the open side. It fluttered down upon their heads, allowing us to rise into the night.

“Jason is waiting for us,” Lyudmila said with a smile. “Buckle up, it’s going to be a bumpy ride.”

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

Everything About Felicity Was All Brown

  • by jenrolled her beautiful eyes
  • like some patient livery cob
  • suddenly declared unlawful
  • no other password
  • the beautiful dog’s friendly attention
  • as plainly as the geese
  • causing an obstruction in the shaft
  • interposed his elegantly marked body
  • in the crepuscular twilight
  • WOW! Is she dragging!
  • such petty jealousies
  • all brown, brown eyes, brown hair

Everything about Felicity was all brown, brown eyes, brown hair, brown tobacco-stained teeth. She wore a brown velour jumpsuit and brown leather boots. Erasmus thought she dressed that way to hide her beauty from the eyes of men, to prevent such petty jealousies as she must have experienced in school when she no doubt turned the heads of her friends’ swains. It was for very similar reasons that Erasmus had covered his body with detailed black tattoos. Such subterfuge did not fool Erasmus, who saw her sensual attractiveness as plainly as the geese flying overhead and honking in the crepuscular twilight saw the small pond in the woods as their pit stop for the night.

“Why must those horrid sentries be causing an obstruction in the shaft?” wailed Felicity.

WOW! Is she dragging! thought Erasmus. Felicity was usually stoic in the face of such disappointment. She must be completely exhausted to break down like that. They knew when they signed up for the Amazing Race that there would be frustrations, but nothing had prepared them for this task, in which they were required to navigate their way through a disused emerald mine in Myanmar. Much to their chagrin, the team had just found themselves back at the entrance and had gone outside for some fresh air and to pet the large black dog that was chained there.

“Are you certain you know no other password?” Erasmus asked.

Felicity rolled her beautiful eyes like some patient livery cob who had lost all patience upon learning that horses had been suddenly declared unlawful.

“If I knew another password,” she grumbled, “don’t you think I would have mentioned it?”

Her despair drew the beautiful dog’s friendly attention, and it demanded to be petted. Erasmus felt a flair of jealousy and interposed his elegantly marked body between Felicity and the animal.

longest prompt evah!

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!

Harry Would Always Try Like Hell

  • k-avatartry like hell to tailor
  • it would look like a slump
  • theoretical mathematical inherent possibility
  • flight only smaller cats
  • $2000

Harry would always try like hell to tailor his advice to the particular needs of the recipient.

“Fight only smaller cats,” he recommended to the scratched and bedraggled dachshund. Not fighting at all would generally be better advice, but a weiner-dog has to think about the standings. It would look like a slump if he didn’t notch any victories.

“Go for it,” he called up to the woman on the ledge. To the aghast bystanders all around, he said, “She might float down slowly and be fine. It’s a theoretical mathematical inherent possibility.”

Every time Harry’s prescription ran out, he enjoyed at least a day of such lucidity and wisdom. And to think, he thought, I spent $2000 on those pills!

 

about stichomancy writing prompts

try our stichomancy writing prompt generator!