Cover Reveal: Tenpenny Zen

Mark your calendars! Tenpenny Zen, the second book in our Divided Man series, will be available on Monday, March 20.

Our books tend to defy categorization. We’re labeling this one as Cyberpunk although it might more accurately be called Shroompunk. For some reason Amazon doesn’t consider our newly invented genre legit. Yet.

And now, may we present to you the gorgeousness that is the cover of Tenpenny Zen:

Tenpenny Zen: a novel of sex, cults, and an interdimensional henge contraption.

Check back next week for a sneak peek at chapter 1!

My Getup

  • by Kentunimaginative weapons
  • this is not the time to be shy
  • until the approaching equinox
  • An American named Henderson had other ideas
  • is best read in complete silence

Tune in next time part 160                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My getup made me feel vulnerable and dangerous at the same time. Unlike guns, knives, and other unimaginative weapons, the spikes on my leather collar and codpiece would make any tussles I got into quite memorable. But it made any room I stood in feel rather drafty. I tried to look casual, telling myself “this is not the time to be shy.”

“Will you three get moving?” Jenkins snarled. “Do you think I want to keep this idiot pinned until the approaching equinox?”

“This way,” Heinrich said. He hefted a trapdoor and motioned for me to go first. The tunnels underneath TinselTown were originally meant for use by the “elves” employed in the park. An American named Henderson had other ideas. He wrote them all down, and that is one book which is best read in complete silence.

“Heinrich, let’s discuss this,” I said.

“Shove him in!” Svetlana screamed. “The plan is falling behind schedule!”

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Svetlana Held Up a Spiked Leather Dog Collar

  • by jenhe’s like milk to you
  • as if someone was pursuing him
  • Jenkins rolled on him
  • on the hallway carpet right in front of them
  • (an up-and-down bump and grind)

Tune in next time part 159                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Svetlana held up a spiked leather dog collar and matching codpiece. I shrugged. At least it was less embarrassing than my current Cupid getup.

“Give it a rest, Svetlana,” Heinrich growled. “I know he’s like milk to you, rich and creamy and better with chocolate, but we’re on a mission. He needs to be able to sneak in and out undetected.”

“He needs to be able to move as if someone was pursuing him, because someone probably will be, and this gives him optimal range of motion,” Svetlana countered.

I uncoiled myself from Heinrich’s harness and stood stretching my limbs while the two of them bickered over the appropriateness of the bondage getup. From the corner of my eye I caught a flicker of movement in the ridiculous pink lacy wallpaper. Suspecting an ineptly camouflaged ninja, I froze.

Ninja camouflage, when it’s not at its peak, is kind of like those Magic Eye puzzles. I relaxed my eyes and, sure enough, could pick out the silhouette of a shadow warrior. His attention was on Heinrich, and I saw no reason to intervene. As he poised to leap, a sudden commotion erupted from a nearby doorway and who should tumble into the corridor but Jenkins!

I hadn’t seen Jenkins in years, but she was just as I remembered her, dark-skinned, dark-eyed, and deadly. The ninja tried to pounce on the still-arguing Heinrich and Svetlana, but Jenkins rolled on him on the the hallway carpet right in front of them.

“That was supposed to be Step 6!” cried Svetlana. “You’ve short-circuited everything, Jenkins, and now we won’t get to see him,” she jerked her thumb at me, “in this.” She held the codpiece aloft.

Jenkins got the ninja in a leg lock and said. “He’ll wear it if he knows what’s good for him.”

And so, under the watchful eyes of Svetlana, Jenkins, Heinrich, and the semi-conscious ninja, I stripped out of my shorty toga and feathery wings, and struggled into the leather gear. It was tight and uncomfortable, and I had to resort to some very awkward moves (an up-and-down bump and grind) to get it on.

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The Home Stretch

The end is in sight for two of our current open projects, and it feels damn good. Tenpenny Zen has been resting quietly in a drawer, awaiting its publication date later this month. We’ll pick it up this weekend and give it one final read through to make sure our last round of edits didn’t introduce any embarrassing typos, but other than that the manuscript is ready. Kent spent most of this week’s work sessions hammering out the back cover copy. It’s a completely different style of writing, and we haven’t had a lot of practice with it yet. Kent persevered even when Jen wrinkled her nose at some of his early efforts, and we’re quite pleased with the result he arrived at.

With all those pieces falling into place, expect the cover reveal next week. It’s gorgeous!

While Kent was toiling away on one type of nonstandard prose, Jen was intent on another. Two nights ago she finished writing the stubs for the rest of Son of Science Novel. Up until now the ending was basically “stuff blows up.” We knew who survived and who didn’t, other big picture things like that, but now we know most of the details. Not all, obviously. That’s what the actual writing is for. But now we have the finale broken down into beats, and we know whose point of view we’ll experience those beats through. It’s a complex series of events, and having this roadmap will make the writing go a lot faster.

With any luck (and fewer distractions now that Tenpenny Zen is all but finalized) we’ll be in a good position to sail through the rest of Son of Science Novel’s first draft.

Either of us working on our own would not be able to accomplish nearly as much as we do working together. We find having a writing partner invaluable. How about you?

My Initial Squeamishness

  • by Kentorder his midnight niblets
  • in defense of Ewoks
  • last night I slept on a feather bed
  • give me my crown
  • grope her way crusty-eyed back to her sleep

Tune in next time part 158                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My initial squeamishness about step one of the plan was quite robust. I still had some chafing from my indenture to Tallulah, which made it even more difficult not to view the harness on Heinrich’s torso as a sex swing. But the plan was a good plan, due in large part to its simplicity, and step one simply called for me to put aside my aversion and climb on.

It was Svetlana’s glare that convinced me.

And as soon as my feet and arms were secured, I began to feel better about the plan. Heinrich buttoned his shirts over me, and I felt safe and warm. His swaying gait produced a comforting rocking motion, and I could envision how after a long, hard day of villainy Svetlana might grope her way crusty-eyed back to her sleep here in Heinrich’s artificial womb. Loyal subjects of dreamland, give me my crown. For if last night I slept on a feather bed, which I didn’t, it wouldn’t have been so restful.

I dreamt. I was a baby Wookiee, accompanying the great heroes in defense of Ewoks. I was a werewolf at an all-night diner where a monster could order his midnight niblets in peace.

“Wake up,” Heinrich’s voice boomed. “It is time for step three.”

“What happened to step two?” I mumbled, blinking at the light as he pulled the shirt aside.

“You slept through it,” Svetlana giggled. “But I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to see what we chose for you to wear.”

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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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Are They Ever Really Done?

Something that we knew about in an abstract way, but appreciated more viscerally once we published the first book, is that at some point you need to stop looking for things to fiddle around with. It’s done, move on.

But are they ever really done? (Yes. Yes they are.)

It’s hard letting go. A creative enterprise on the scale of writing a novel requires huge investment, to the point where it becomes an emotional bond with the book itself. You feel responsible for its well-being. There’s also the more rational concern for providing readers with a flawless experience. The paradoxical thing about perfectionism is that it keeps your readers from ever experiencing anything at all. Maybe that’s a kind of flawlessness, but certainly not the kind you should aspire to.

There will be the temptation to go back and do more fine tuning even after you’ve officially published the book. It’s easier than ever to tweak your files and re-upload them. It’s understandable. We’re sympathetic. But here’s the thing: it’s never-ending. There’s literally always going to be one more thing you could tweak, one more edit you can second-guess. Let George Lucas be a cautionary tale.

The best you can do is to do your best. Edit yourself meticulously, and get outside help if editing isn’t your strong suit. As we discussed last time, it can be tough to achieve critical distance and see what’s actually on the page rather than what you know you meant. Even with two of us to watch for them, cringeworthy errors have a way of sneaking in. In one of our manuscripts, we recently discovered “load crack” — a decidedly unsavory sound effect, which we changed to “loud crack” — and this is in a project that’s been read by about ten people, on which we’ve already done multiple editing passes. It’d been there the whole time.

Feel free to use “load crack” in your own work, by the way. We don’t need it.

You let things rest, you do your best, and then you move forward.

A writing partner is invaluable as a second set of eyes on your work, and also as a source of perspective for when to sign off.

I Suppose I Have No Choice

  • by Kenthaving an extra nipple
  • drink to the devil
  • Rubenstein was furious
  • had it not been for the indefatigable efforts of the assiduous Goodwin
  • his manhood in public

Tune in next time part 156                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I suppose I have no choice,” I said. “What is it you want me to do?”

“There is far too much explaining needed,” Svetlana simpered, seeming oddly aroused by the prospect. “We can’t just stand around out here.”

The nefarious duo led me to Lonelyhearts, a bar within the park. When I questioned the idea of so visibly pregnant a woman going in there, they brushed the objection aside. I thought we would at least find a shadowy corner table, but they went directly to the barstools.

Svetlana batted her eyes at the bartender and said, “Heinrich here will be having an extra nipple, a slippery one that is. Plus whatever he wants for himself.” She pointed past Heinrich to me. “Paying for your drink is the least we can do. Just toast me.” She winked.

“Bourbon, neat,” I said. When you’re on your way to hell, you might as well drink to the devil.

Svetlana hadn’t been lying about there being a lot to explain. An hour later, Heinrich was still laying out the background. “Rubenstein was furious, and had it not been for the indefatigable efforts of the assiduous Goodwin all our worst fears might have come true.”

“What do Rubenstein and Goodwin have to do with anything?” I asked.

“Nothing. They’re retired. I just wanted you to understand where we’re coming from.”

I counted the glasses on the bar, feeling a bit dizzy. Heinrich’s tolerance appeared to far exceed mine, as his eyes and speech remained clear despite double my number of drinks.

“Now, I have to explain to you about the ninja factions we have today. They trace to ninth-century Japan…”

Heinrich rambled for several more rounds of whisky. When he stopped, the sudden quiet was like an alarm clock going off. He looked over his shoulder at Svetlana and said, “I believe our little apparatchik is ready to prove his manhood in public.”

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“Heinrich!”

  • by jenwe wish we had not so many clothes
  • throngs of volunteers
  • there was a guard
  • brown hair and a mustache
  • standing this time on her right foot

Tune in next time part 155                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Heinrich!” I exclaimed.

Heinrich used his toe to flip his hat up off the ground. It landed neatly on his head. He glared at me. The last time I’d seen him he was in a very unpleasant situation involving his wife, a nasty jellyfish sting, and urine.

I smirked. “How’s Aphrodite?”

“Our marriage is over.” He shuddered. “After what I had to do to save her, there was no way for us to go on.”

“And Svetlana?” By the looks of his enormous gut, his contortionist mistress had resumed her residency underneath his aloha shirt.

“It is at her request that I am here,” Heinrich said. He began to unbutton his shirt, and then the one underneath it. “Sometimes,” he muttered, “we wish we had not so many clothes.”

There weren’t exactly throngs of volunteers eager to help him strip, that’s for sure. In the corner there was a guard, but he was studiously ignoring us.

Finally all the layers of Heinrich’s garments were peeled away, exposing Svetlana. She gracefully unfolded herself from her harness and stood between Heinrich and me, wearing only a pale pink leotard and balancing on her left foot. She stretched her right leg straight up by her head. This pose made it impossible to ignore her pregnant belly.

“I’m so glad we found you!” she cried. “I knew you’d be thrilled to hear that our little train rendezvous was a success!” She caressed her belly. “It’s going to have brown hair and a mustache, I just know it!”

I threw a glance at Heinrich, wondering how he felt about all this. He glared at me even harder before turning his attention back to Svetlana who was standing this time on her right foot.

“You’ll have to do just what we say,” Heinrich said, “or we’ll tell Fleur and her warlord father about Svetlana’s baby.”

Svetlana threw me an evil grin. “And we’ll tell Tessa, too!”

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A Plethora of Piñatas

So you’ve just finished your first draft. What happens next?

Obviously you celebrate, but after you sober up or get back from Disney World or whatever, then what?

Then you put that manuscript aside for a while. You do other things and try to forget everything you wrote so that when you do look at it again you have critical distance.

Critical distance is among the most important skills for an author, and also among the most difficult to master. It’s what allows you to stand in the reader’s shoes, what enables your own work to surprise you sometimes. And that’s crucial when you’re ready to edit. You need to be able to see the plot holes, the out-of-character moments, and the places where motivation is thin. You need to be able to spot the story beats that are obviously contrived.

That last one can be tricky because all the story beats are contrived, obviously. You wrote them.

So, like we said, you need critical distance. How do you achieve it? Just reading something else is good, but what you want to do is fully engage your faculties. Reading is too passive for this. Nothing will restore your own work’s ability to surprise you faster than editing or writing a different piece. It’s not enough to just look away from a project for a while. You need to actively push other stuff through the system. You need to overwrite that part of the hard disk.

We’ve had a lot of success achieving critical distance by having three series, each set in its own story world. While Miss Brandymoon’s Device was resting between editing passes, we could write the Music Novel. While Tenpenny Zen was tucked away in a drawer we could plot out the entirety of the Science Novel. We’ve been rotating through those three series for a couple of years now, and it’s worked well. Now that we’re publishing the Divided Man series, though, we suddenly have fewer open projects.

It’s really exciting to have our work out there in front of people, and it feels really good to have the end in sight for that series, but it does mean that we need to figure out what our next new thing will be. We don’t want to turn around one day and find that we’ve run out of material, and we need to always have something on the back burner so that there’s always a productive way to get that necessary (dare we say critical?) critical distance.