The Phony Mustache Portion of the Phony Beard

  • by Kentwhen she found out that he was married
  • I don’t want to smell good
  • duties loomed particularly large
  • the palm-reading psychic
  • into a state of partial suffocation

Tune in next time part 114                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The phony mustache portion of the phony beard blocked Svetlana’s nostrils, and between yelled insults she sucked the actual beard portion into her mouth, buying me a moment to think while she gagged herself into a state of partial suffocation. I wondered if her deception of Thor required specific acts of chicanery, like when she bribed the palm-reading psychic on the boardwalk to lie to her mother about when graduation was that year.

“Hey,” I said, “Thor needs your help. The militant vegetarians have captured him aboard the presidential airship.” Unless they’ve killed him already, I added inwardly. If so, then Freya’s decoy duties loomed particularly large in the future. “They’ll try to force a repeal of the Ground Chuck Act, and who knows how far they’re willing to push things. I don’t want to smell good food on the grill and wonder if it’s the president.”

“Okay, okay,” Svetlana huffed. “I’ll help you rescue your silly brother, since he is the official father of our child.” I nodded, wondering how her attitude about Thor was going to change when she found out that he was married.

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The Little Man Continued to Hop and Gibber

  • by jenwith an energy peculiar to excited females
  • you are so flamboyantly much
  • A well-played violin
  • he’s always been his parents’ favorite
  • you win $50,000!

Tune in next time part 113                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

The little man continued to hop and gibber about imaginary snakes, with an energy peculiar to excited females, at least in my experience. The incongruity prompted me to look more closely and I saw that “his” beard was stuck on with spirit gum.

“Svetlana,” I sighed, peeling the scraggly thing off her chin, “you are so flamboyantly much.”

A well-played violin is precisely what her screeching reply did not sound like. The dolphin sounds echoed throughout the opera house for at least 30 seconds before she finally resorted to human words. “You’re such an asshole! Just because I tricked you into getting me pregnant, stole your clothes, and abandoned you on the train, you think that makes it okay for you to run off with your wife for months at a time?” She huffed and stuck the fake beard back on her face, crookedly. “It’s lucky for me I’ve got Thor convinced he’s the father. He’s always been his parents’ favorite, you know.”

That stung, seeing as Thor’s parents and my parents were the same parents.

Svetlana continued, “You’re such an asshole, in fact, that in the Asshole Olympics you win $50,000! Before you get too excited, you should know that’s only equivalent to the Bronze Medal.”

I didn’t dare ask who took Gold and Silver, but I did feel obligated to tell her of Thor’s current whereabouts. She could hardly trick him into raising my bastard child if the vegetable militants killed him, and that would put me in a very tight spot with my warlord father-in-law.

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So Now It’s Fall Already

r-avatarProgress report time: we’re making progress!

Jen has completed the first nine stubs for Son of Science Novel. Each stub represents a scene, which for us tends to run in the range of three to six pages, although many times they end up longer. It’s not exactly rare for a scene to get cut after we’ve written it, but our process does help us minimize such wasted effort. If it gets stubbed, it’s a pretty sure bet it’ll be in the book.

Kent has completed the first draft of the new short story. He hadn’t done one in quite a while, and it felt damn good. In this case it was also fun to reconnect with characters we haven’t written lately. So now that draft needs to rest for a bit and then we’ll do revisions.

And, we have been devoting a lot of time over the past few weeks to the business side. This is a trend we expect to continue for the foreseeable future. It’s exciting and intimidating at the same time. One thing that’s become clear to us is that the biggest appeal of traditional publishing is the idea of having other people do all this stuff. (Which isn’t necessarily an accurate idea, but it sure is appealing!)

Now, back into it. More worlds to conquer! And winter is, is… due to arrive… just around the corner, er, bound to show up at some point.

“Enough!” Thor Screeched

  • by KentI draw the line at this.
  • past a dingy laundromat
  • equipment bigger and grander
  • withstood the ravages of time in the humid atmosphere
  • “Snakes! Snakes! Look at the snakes!”

Tune in next time part 112                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“Enough!” Thor screeched. “Your silly games have kept me quite amused, but I draw the line at this. You will not –”

Whatever they would not remained unstated, as Thor toppled with a blowdart in his neck.

“Get rid of him,” said the broccoli-faced woman. I braced for a barrage of poisoned needles, but instead the two largest vegerebels took hold of me by the elbows and dragged me toward an open hatch in the floor. The one with the kale mask shoved a backpack at me. I put it on quickly, hoping it was a parachute. They tossed me through the hole in the floor before I was done adjusting the straps.

The spire where the zeppelin was moored wasn’t terribly high, so I pulled the rip cord immediately. My landing was quite rough. My chute caught a strong breeze and dragged me down the street past a dingy laundromat and a candle factory before I figured out how to slip out of it.

The wind had carried me farther than I realized, into the university quarter of Pittsburghistan. Across the street from the candle factory was the opera house, which doubled as a research facility. What they researched, I wasn’t sure. The sign didn’t explain beyond proclaiming they now had equipment bigger and grander than before. I entered the empty, echoing lobby, and knew by the acrid smell that their big, grand equipment hadn’t withstood the ravages of time in the humid atmosphere of the region.

“Up here!” called a cheerful male voice. I found stairs at the end of the lobby that led up to where the small man was standing. He beckoned me over to the railing and pointed down to where I had just been. He hopped up and down as he shouted, “Snakes! Snakes! Look at the snakes!”

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I Poked the President in the Chest with the Thumb-Shaped Device

  • by jenthrough the residential neighborhood
  • reloaded at least twice
  • now have caught up with the Hamburger
  • controversy spanning several years
  • as for the possibility of air piracy

Tune in next time part 111                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I poked the president in the chest with the thumb-shaped device the American Ambassador to Contraria had so recently delivered to me. “What’s the deal?” I asked. “If you’re here in person, why have Myxolemia deliver this? I haven’t even had a chance to look at it yet.”

Thor looked at the thumb drive blankly. “I’ve never seen that before in my life.”

We both stopped walking down the sloping, darkening corridor and stared at the ridiculous object. I held my finger to my lips and my brother nodded. If we were lucky it was merely a listening device. If we were unlucky…

Thor motioned for me to drop the thumb, but I couldn’t do that. This was a hospital. If the thumb exploded, untold innocent lives could be lost. I darted out a side exit and ran through the residential neighborhood, looking for a suitable place for bomb disposal. Thor jogged along beside me. By the time I found an armor-plated dumpster my reservoir of panic had been emptied and reloaded at least twice.

I tossed the suspicious electronic digit into the dumpster and Thor slammed the lid closed. We darted away to a safe distance and then felt free to speak again.

“We must get to the airfield,” Thor said. “My zeppelin is waiting.” I was so anxious to make my escape from Contraria that I didn’t even ask where we would fly to.

Air Force One and a Half was tethered to the top of a landing spire. Thor and I took the elevator up and started across the gangway. We were more than halfway across when I felt a swaying that could only mean someone was behind us. I turned and saw a cadre of masked and armed villains. I gave Thor a shove and we ran the rest of the way into the cabin of the zeppelin, only to be confronted by more blowguns.

A woman in a mask made of broccoli said, “We now have caught up with the Hamburger Heathen!” She was talking, of course, about Thor. His Presidential Decree of Universal Carnivorousness had not sat well with many vegetarians and vegans. It was a controversy spanning several years, and they’d tried seemingly every tactic in the book in their quest for vengeance. As for the possibility of air piracy, I hadn’t previously considered it, but I couldn’t claim to be surprised.

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Gentlemen, Start Your Engines

r-avatarWe mentioned recently that there hasn’t been much writing going on in the writing cave of late, and we’re happy to announce that that’s about to change.

Yes, we’re still wading around in the marketing bayou, wielding our machetes, collecting the far-flung pieces of the treasure map that will assure us publishing success, while doing our best to avoid quagmires, gators, and other distractions. But we are still attempting to plug away at the fiction at the same time.

A few days ago Jen finished up the detailed outlines and timelines for the next two novels we’re going to tackle. They’re both sequels to the Science Novel, so it makes sense to work them in tandem. This was the first time we’ve worked on such a grand scale, and it took a lot longer than expected to get them both fleshed out. We needed to upgrade our crystal ball to get better resolution for such far-future details.

Then last night Jen composed the first stub for Novel #7, aka Son of Science Novel. (In our writing cave, Stubs are what we call detailed scene descriptions, the step between outline and actual prose.) We like to have at least half a dozen stubs lined up before we start writing so that we’re both clear on how our individual parts will fit into the finished work. We’re not quite ready to start yet. But we’re so close! The excitement is building, and we’re hopeful that we’ll actually remember how to do it. To limber up, Kent is working on a short story.

My Wife and Her Gas-Masked Entourage

  • by Kentnot unlike very large white mallows
  • taped students masturbating
  • didn’t give a damn who knew
  • “We could end up homeless because of this.”
  • all the shaving cream was gone

Tune in next time part 110                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My wife and her gas-masked entourage didn’t seem to care that I was slinking away. It made my escape very simple, but it kind of hurt my feelings. I reached the corner and peered around it at the spy or would-be assassin who had summoned me. It was my younger brother, Thor.

“What happened to your pants?” I asked. “And, aren’t you supposed to be running the United States government?”

“It’s wine,” Thor replied. “Contrarian flight attendants are horrible, clumsy oafs, with hideous feet not unlike very large white mallows, or rubbery hooves. Even in first class. And Mom’s got things under control back at the capital, don’t worry. She’s duct-taped students masturbating all around the walls of the Oval Office, to help her concentrate on foreign policy.”

Of course our mother was the one really in charge, and Thor didn’t give a damn who knew. He did that finger gesture again and started leading me down the branch passageway. It sloped slightly downhill, and grew darker as we went.

“But can you really be away? Were you recognized?” Legally speaking, Mother had no authority anymore. “We could end up homeless because of this.”

Thor assured me that Freya had things covered. “She’s a perfect decoy. And she’s got dirt on the whole Supreme Court. Pro tip: never believe her if she told you all the shaving cream was gone.”

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I Stared at the Beckoning Finger

  • by jenConsidering the circumstances?
  • “Such devotion to duty!”
  • to the healthful and invigorating pursuit of mangling
  • dragging its squeaking prey into the shadows
  • with all imaginable courtesy

Tune in next time part 109                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

I stared at the beckoning finger, trying to decide if its owner could possibly have my best interests at heart. Considering the circumstances? Unlikely.

Fleur’s bodyguards continued chortling, but I noticed that their mirth did not reach their eyes. Despite outward appearances, they were alert and dangerous. “Such devotion to duty!” I thought. From their physiques it was evident that they devoted a lot of their time to the healthful and invigorating pursuit of mangling their sparring partners. The one on the left had a lupine brutishness, while the one on the right I could easily imagine as a jungle cat, dragging its squeaking prey into the shadows and doing unspeakable things to it.

It was comforting to know that my wife was so well protected, but on the other hand the presence of these guards complicated my life immensely.

The finger appeared again, curling and uncurling. Fleur and Isolde were still laughing, doubled over with their merriment, so with all imaginable courtesy I took a few steps toward the corner. Something about that finger looked familiar.

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The Not-So-Much-Writing Part of Being A Writer

r-avatarBeing in the home stretch toward publication means there’s been a great deal of intense activity in the writing cave, but not much of it feels like writing. This has always been the biggest part of our struggle with the business side. It’s not that rejection hurts too much, which is the received wisdom about writers’ procrastination when it comes to marketing. Rejection isn’t a great sensation, but we’ve never been thin-skinned about it. No, the issue is mostly just the time it takes, that it takes us away from writing.

But if we want to reach an audience, then we must publish the material. Which means we must invest time in the activity of marketing, which is easier to do when we adopt a brighter attitude about it. As part of our reformation, we’re trying to learn as much as possible about how to do it successfully. Because when you don’t know whether to expect your efforts to yield anything, it’s much, much harder to put any real spirit into them. And far easier to rationalize sustaining your familiar routine.

Even with the addition of this post, our Marketing category remains in single digits. That tells us that while we know it’s important (hence, the existence of the category at all) we’ve become very good at ignoring it. And yet, somehow, the books don’t publish themselves. We were so sure that’s how it worked.

Our hope is that, beyond this initial flurry of setup and learning by doing, we’ll be able to keep marketing’s share of our writing time down to a sliver. We really want to focus on our fiction, because that’s what we love. We just need to eke out a little time so it can find more people who will love it, too!

“I Bet You’re Allowed to Use Proper Grammar”

  • by Kent“You’re going to have to prove it then, aren’t you?”
  • in clumsy sentences
  • third and last round of single combat
  • the murder charges were dropped
  • It’s just a cave.

Tune in next time part 108                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

“I bet you’re allowed to use proper grammar,” Isolde chided me.

“I’m not so old,” I said, pouting.

Fleur leered. “You’re going to have to prove it then, aren’t you?”

Escape had seemed so close just a minute before, but this giddy nonsense was what I got instead. And they wanted me to demonstrate my youth in clumsy sentences. I’d have rather been facing the third and last round of single combat, rather have been pacing in a cell waiting to find out if the murder charges were dropped.

“Wet someone, corner. Listening.” I watched the women’s faces, and their bodyguards’, for glimmers. Jerking my head toward the eavesdropper, whose damp jeans were still plainly visible, jutting past the wall.

Isolde tilted her head, then looked in the right direction. She tittered. “Oh, him. Don’t worry about where he’s going. It’s just a cave.”

This remark doubled Fleur with laughter, and the bodyguards’ gas masks puffed out in time to the hollow, muted chortles they produced. Soon all four people from the ultrasound room were leaning on the walls and one another in helpless merriment.

Down the corridor, the lurker’s wet jeans withdrew from sight, replaced by a hand. The index finger curled in a universal sign of beckoning.

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