Sayonara (Not So) Sweet ’16

What a year. Politics were shit, and too many cool celebrities died.

But!

It wasn’t total misery! Looking back at our post from this time last year, it seems we more or less accomplished what we set out to do in the writing cave. Son (and Grandson!) of Science Novel are both outlined, and we’re well underway with the composition. Go Team Skelley!

Where we deviated from our plan was basically everything that had to do with Son of Music Novel. It did not get time to rest quietly in a drawer, it did not get a thorough edit. Since the other members of our writers’ group were not at a point where they had anything to share, Son of Music Novel got its critique debut a bit early. It’s been a challenge to divide our attention between the projects, but we’re managing. At least we have each other’s shoulders to cry on.

So how did we spend our year 2016 at SkelleyCo Amalgamated Fictions, LLC?

In January and February we were deep in the outlining for Son of Science Novel. It’s pretty much the only thing we blogged about.

March brought our brilliant scheme to outline both sequels before moving on to prose. We did accomplish that, and as far as we can tell at this altitude, we haven’t fucked it up yet. If we can ever get out of this holiday quagmire and chain ourselves to our desks again, we ought to be able to finish up Son and roll right on into Grandson.

Along with taxes, April brought an end to the outlining, and a trip down memory lane. We cleaned out the Writing Cave and took a look at how we used to do things back in the Olden Days. Then we partook of a different kind of nostalgia, beginning an editing pass on Music Novel, which hadn’t seen the light of day in a while.

May was spent elbow-deep in the guts of Music Novel, editing like fiends. Or skilled surgeons, if you’d rather.

In June we hit a couple of bumps in the road, but our partnership (and marriage!) are as strong as ever.

Come July we were all over the place, working in all three of our story worlds at once, and beginning the preliminary work for self-publishing our very first novel, Miss Brandymoon’s Device.

Happy Anniversary! In August, our chain story reached installment 100! And we were still getting through all the throat-clearing that happens before we actually start writing a novel (or two).

September was mostly spent in the run-up to publishing Miss Brandymoon’s Device. Kent created a beautiful cover for it and both of its siblings. We did all kinds of boring behind-the-scenes technical stuff with fonts and layouts and what-have-you. Jen took care of the final pre-writing tasks for the new novels.

And then Boom! October! Book birthday! We think our new baby is gorgeous, and we hope you love it just as much as we do. Hop on over to your favorite book retailer and pick up a copy of the ebook for free! Or order a physical copy from Amazon. You won’t regret it!

Suddenly it was November. How could it possibly be Thanksgiving already? Please explain to us the passage of time. As we always do, we ignored NaNoWriMo and kept our own schedule, with got us to 20,000 by the middle of the month. Not too shabby, when you consider how many distractions we were dealing with.

Good thing there are no distractions in December, amiright? Despite a very long list of things vying for our attention we’re going to finish up 2016 with about 45,000 words in the can for Son of Science Novel. It’s not as many as we’d hoped we might have by now, but it’s nothing to sneeze at.

Jen was feeling a little disheartened that we weren’t further along, and as we worked on this Year in Review post she was able to diagnose her main issue. It feels like we’ve been working on this book for an entire freakin’ year! And that’s because we have been. But we took a huge break in the middle to edit several novels and actually get one of them out in front of people. Somehow that part had slipped Jen’s mind. But when you look at things rationally and see that we’ve only been actually writing this book since sometime in October, it feels like an accomplishment to be proud of.

So we’ll say it again, Go Team Skelley!

Next week we’ll talk about our plans for 2017.

“Come With Me”

  • by Kent“Is this an ocean menagerie?”
  • something that, in hindsight, looks strikingly similar to
  • shot him in the mouth
  • a converted fireman
  • young ladies usually are

Tune in next time part 140                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Come with me,” I said to Freya. She flung herself onto her ersatz Claus and shook her head, a perfect, petulant tantrum. It might have been adorable when she was two, and apparently the white-bearded man laying underneath her had much laxer standards.

I wrote her off. She knew she’d have mother to answer to later, and apparently she didn’t care. I had to move quickly, as the tattoo admonished. Quicken my steps, as mother had scolded.

The message inked on my chest was not meant to be taken literally. I knew, for example, that the glistening treetops it referred to were branching bioluminescent coral formations on view at the Contrarian National Aquarium. Handy that it was three blocks away.

Admission was free. I headed down three levels to the proper tank, and stood gazing at glowing, gently swaying fronds, like a deep-sea rave where someone subbed horse tranquilizer for ecstasy.

“Is this an ocean menagerie?” asked the red-haired lady beside me. It sure sounded like a coded phrase, but I had no countersign that went with it. She must be meeting up with a different operative. I nodded, because the correct answer to her question was, “Yes.” This exchange was something that, in hindsight, looks strikingly similar to acknowledgement of a coded signal. She set down her shopping bag beside my feet and wandered off.

Whoever was running their game, I would like to have shot him in the mouth with a squirt gun full of bleach. I stepped away from the bag so its intended recipient wouldn’t feel the need to do anything drastic when he showed up.

Half an hour later, I was still alone at the viewing window, with only the abandoned shopping bag for companionship. Maybe I misread the situation? Maybe the red-head was the headmistress? Worth a glance in the bag to figure it out, right?

The bag contained a jigsaw puzzle, or at least I hoped it was just one puzzle’s worth of pieces. Of course, the moment I picked it up was when more people entered the exhibit, so I couldn’t just leave it.

But something else distracted the arriving throng. I turned back to the glass and saw a diver in the dark water, using a converted fireman‘s breathing apparatus in place of real SCUBA gear. Apart from the breather, the diver wore only a bikini, and she wore it well. I noticed an odd pattern to the way she released her bubbles, but my view was quickly blocked by a few dozen high-school boys pressing their noses to the glass. When they swim in skimpy costumes, young ladies usually are an irresistible lure for teenage boys.

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Now That You’ve Checked Santa Off Your To-Kiss List

  • by jenonly full-blooded Navajo
  • a vast subterranean chamber of horrors
  • reflection of its luminous rays
  • Ahem.
  • and you’re still not dancing

Tune in next time part 139                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Now that you’ve checked Santa off your To-Kiss list, Freya, I think only full-blooded Navajo is left.” I shot a glance at Mr Claus’s tattoo before his beard covered it again, hoping it was not a twin to my own. It wasn’t, and instead depicted a vast subterranean chamber of horrors, a Hellscape overhung by a giant bloody sun, the writhing flames a reflection of its luminous rays.

Santa said, “Ahem. My eyes are up here.”

Freya smoothed his beard and kissed the tip of his nose, then leapt to her feet. “Mother sent me to find you,” she explained to me. “She says, and I quote, ‘Thor is a huge disappointment as president, and you’re still not dancing fast enough.'” Freya shrugged. “She said you’d know what she meant.”

Oh, I knew all right. I knew, and I didn’t like it one little bit.

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The Descent Into (Holiday) Madness

r-avatarThe baking. The shopping. The wrapping. The cleaning.

The visiting. The cookies! The feasting. (And more cookies!)

Work stress. Travel stress. Gift anxiety.

New card games. Nonpariels. Caramels. And more feasting.

See what’s missing? The writing. Things in the cave haven’t stopped completely, we promise, but the apparatus available for our use isn’t sensitive enough to register any movement. So, yeah. It’s gotten pretty challenging to keep up with our goals.

We wish joy upon all our readers, now and throughout the year.

The Newly Exposed Skin

by KentIn keeping with our annual tradition, this week’s stichomancy prompt fodder is taken exclusively from holiday songs. Unlike previous years, we’re going to work them into our ongoing chain story. Enjoy!

  • where the treetops glisten
  • fire is so delightful
  • Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up
  • underneath his beard so snowy white
  • think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed

Tune in next time part 138                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The newly exposed skin of my chest was bright pink, the color deepening to red as I watched. If there were any important details of the tattoo done in red hues they would be practically invisible.

Getting a good look at the tattoo was awkward. It was going to either be upside down or, if I could find a mirror, backwards. The spa was filled with mirrors, so I gave that a try. I was still pessimistic about understanding the message, when what to my wondering eyes should appear but a code that I recognized. Tessa had inked the original da Vinci style, in mirrorscript, so the reflection was plainly legible to me. The nefarious spa attendants were actually at a disadvantage with their photograph!

It did take a few minutes to recall how to decipher the code she used. Soon I could tell that the message was a set of directions, almost like a pirate’s treasure map. “Go to where the treetops glisten, and remind the headmistress that fire is so delightful precisely because it is so dangerous. You must hurry. Giddy up, giddy up, giddy up!”

I put my shirt back on, again. There could only be one place that the tattoo meant, and it wasn’t in Pittsburghistan. On my way out of the spa I nearly tripped over two people laying on the floor. One was an old man with a beard like a wizard’s, and the other was my sister Freya. (For a second, I mistook her for Thor. But last I knew he was prisoner aboard a zeppelin.)

They blinked up at me in surprise. The old man cracked a semi-toothless grin.

My question about what she was up to never got uttered. I spotted the man’s tattoo underneath his beard so snowy white, Freya’s lipstick all around it. (Another clue that this was indeed Freya — it wasn’t Thor’s shade.)

I rolled my eyes. Freya shrugged. “Dear brother, think of all the fellas that I haven’t kissed.”

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Pittsburghistan By Night

by jenIn keeping with our annual tradition, this week’s stichomancy prompt fodder is taken exclusively from holiday songs. Unlike previous years, we’re going to work them into our ongoing chain story. Enjoy!

  • if you really hold me tight
  • find out who’s naughty
  • snow is glistening
  • dressed up like Eskimos
  • ring-ting-tingling too

Tune in next time part 137                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Pittsburghistan by night is a sight to behold. The searchlights on every roof draw blinding white grid patterns over every building and sidewalk, and across the heavy clouds in the sky. I was approached by many prostitutes, one of whom said, “If you really hold me tight, and don’t do nothin’ else, honey, I’ll give you a discount.”

I kept moving, in no mood to find out who’s naughty enough to take her up on an offer like that.

As I turned a corner into yet another narrow alley, I spotted something that finally tempted me. A traditional arctic spa. After the week I’d had, I felt I deserved some relaxation.

Inside, I approached the receptionist and told her I was in desperate need of a foot massage, and a mani-pedi.

What? A guy has every right to pamper himself sometimes.

From the sample board I chose an almost clear polish called “snow is glistening.” The receptionist showed me to a private room and handed me a complimentary robe. I kicked off my shoes and peeled off my fetid socks, then plunged my feet into the tub of fragrant warm water.

A few moments later, the attendants arrived, both dressed up like Eskimos in keeping with the spa’s theme. While they massaged my feet and calves, I was able to relax for the first time in ages.

I must have drifted off because the next thing I knew, I was in severe pain. My chest felt like it was being flayed. It was burning and itching and ring-ting-tingling too. One of the attendants stood over me with a strip of fabric which was covered with hot peppermint wax and the remains of my once-lush chest pelt. The other held up a camera and snapped a picture, then the two of them ran from the room without saying a word.

My damned chest tattoo! With great trepidation I looked down at it. Tessa had kept me blindfolded until the hair grew back and I had never actually seen it before.

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Keeping Busy

r-avatarA quick progress update from the writing cave.

In addition to the ongoing prosification of Son of Science Novel, this week we began a read-through of our next release.

Tenpenny Zen is scheduled to come out in March. It’s book two of the Divided Man series, following Miss Brandymoon’s Device. (which was released last month — did you get yours yet?) The manuscript has been edited a few times already, but we feel it needs one more polishing pass before we put it out there. The first step is to reread it, so it’s fresh in our minds. Once we complete that, we’ll have to park Son of Science Novel to focus on revisions to Tenpenny Zen.

And we’ll take this opportunity to wish you Happy Solstice!

I Wandered

  • by Kenta little cumbersome for you
  • drunk and incoherent
  • into the battery on his belt
  • “I was somewhat stunned.”
  • like busted birthday balloons

Tune in next time part 136                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I wandered the avenues and byways of Pittsburghistan as darkness gathered, too many things on my mind. Soon I was talking to myself. “Gonna be a little cumbersome for you to sort all this out, when you don’t even have a roof over your head. Better off drunk and incoherent in some back alley, not trying to solve so many mysteries at once.”

“There’s a nice alley right over there,” said a voice beside me. I jumped, literally bounded up into the air in surprise, and the dapper gentleman laughed. He inserted a wire into the battery on his belt and said, “What’s nice about the alley is it has a liquor store right at the end of it. Are you okay?”

“I was somewhat stunned.” More than that I was embarrassed to have had an audience for my solo conversation, but the stranger didn’t seem to be holding it against me.

“I’m a good listener,” he offered. “If you’ll buy me a bottle of rum you can tell me anything you like, and I won’t tell a soul.” He smiled ruefully. “Won’t remember any of it, so I couldn’t tell anybody if I wanted to.”

I self-consciously scratched my chest, the tattoo’s message squirming beneath the dense layer of curly hair under my shirt. Had this friendly man been sent by the White Faces? Their agents didn’t usually talk, but special assignments sometimes required them to. They called it “walking against the wind.”

The man smoothed the battery wire, which went up along his shirt and entered the side of his neck. Perhaps the mime cartel had built androids to bear the burden of speech.

Hoping I was just being paranoid, I said, “Not tonight. You’ll have to get someone else to supply you.” The man no longer wore a warm smile. It was replaced by a disappointedly vexed expression, like busted birthday balloons.

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I Haven’t Gone By That Codename In Years

  • by jenI don’t deserve her
  • has her gargle with salt water
  • “He tips well, but…”
  • Marrying from a sense of duty!
  • freeing the painter

Tune in next time part 135                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I haven’t gone by that codename in years,” I told the wig and its hidden microphone. “And I no longer take orders from you.”

“You wouldn’t want us to show this tape to your wife, would you?”

“My wife and I have an understanding. She knows I don’t deserve her anger for something like this.” While it was true that Fleur and I had at one time had such an arrangement, I wasn’t sure it still stood. I worked to keep that uncertainty out of my voice. “She has her flings, too, you know. There’s this one guy she likes a lot. He has her gargle with salt water, and then–”

“Enough!”

“He tips well, but…”

“Listen up Winifred, we need you to come in for a major debriefing. It’s been years! You’ve gone so far off script, we don’t know what’s gotten into you. Marrying from a sense of duty!”

“That wasn’t my choice,” I complained. “And I am not Winifred any longer.”

I finished splashing off at the sink and slicked my hair down, thinking about my last official mission for these clowns. It had involved freeing the painter who was being held captive by the infamous mime cartel the White Faces. I’d been successful, but the things I saw in their headquarters, and the things they did to me, still haunt my dreams.

As I buttoned my shirt I thought of the tattoo hidden under my prodigious chest hair. The tattoo given to me against my will by that captive painter before she would let me rescue her from her greasepaint-coated prison. That was how I first met Tessa, and I always remembered her with an improvised tattoo gun in her hand.

Was it time to shave my chest and read that tattoo’s message once more?

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Russian To Our Assistance

r-avatarWhile we’ve been writing Son of Science Novel, and even when we were still in the rainbows-and-outlines stages, we’ve also been learning Russian. Our interest in it is primarily due to the numerous Russian characters in the book. It’s in English, but knowing what the stuff inside the characters’ heads sounds like is quite useful.

It does consume a certain number of hours in the writing cave, but we feel it’s time well spent. Studying a new language gives writers a better understanding (and maybe even a newfound appreciation) of their native one.

And the wordcount is happening. We’re closing in on 40k, which, as we mentioned last time is not as far along as we had hoped to be by now. But it’s not too shabby. Protagonists are imperiled, in ways they realize and in ways they don’t. Events are conspiring against them, as are villains in a variety of festive colors.

Pro tip: when choosing a writing partner, you could do worse than the person you’d enjoy studying Russian with.