In The Arctic, No One Can Hear You Not Writing

We decided that we wouldn’t do any work during our arctic adventure, because we were on vacation. Some of it counted as research anyway.

Our intention was to get right into serious writing upon our return home, putting the new post-retirement schedule into full effect. It was a good intention, enough to fill a few potholes on that proverbial road. Sigh.

It was probably too long a break. It went beyond resting up and feeling refreshed, to the point of getting a little too comfortable with being lazy.

Another thing that set us up badly is that we’re at a transitional stage in our process. If we’d been in the middle of writing prose, it probably would’ve been pretty easy to pick it back up and knock the rust off. But we’re in a sort of workflow limbo. There’s no breeze to fill our sails.

Of course, what we’d like to blame for all our problems is the clutter of day-to-day life that accumulated in our absence, especially the stack of crossword puzzles. That certainly didn’t help… but we’re caught up on crosswords now and need to stop making excuses.

A writing partner is someone who’ll help you get back on the horse, even if that means first figuring out where said horse wandered off to.

Fleur Licked The Frosting Off Her Dagger

  • by Kentsecret clubs, secret organizations
  • barely used pajamas
  • lavishly fringed with wool yarn
  • zebra wallpaper, and glitter skulls
  • All you have to do is plop

Tune in next time part 844      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Fleur licked the frosting off her dagger, while staring daggers in my direction. It’s not too unusual to have a so-called secret weapon, but my wife excelled at it. In addition to the dagger that had appeared from some clever concealed place, I knew she had secret crossbows, secret blowguns, secret clubs, secret organizations to dream up yet more clandestine armamentations. But for the moment she was distracted by the cake. Tessa and Jim got in line for their slices, but I didn’t find it all that appealing.

With the talent show at last concluded, I could leave the auditorium. I roamed the airship’s corridors until I discovered an unlocked door into a random stateroom. Upon the bed lay some barely used pajamas lavishly fringed with wool yarn, upon the walls was aqua-and-pink zebra wallpaper, and glitter skulls overflowed the suitcase on the stand in the corner.

“You can stay for as long as you like,” came an unfamiliar voice from behind me. “All you have to do is plop your bod into those jammies and get cozy.” Someone had come out from the bathroom, cutting me off from the corridor.

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How Could I Possibly Choose a Winner?

  • by jenboring, non-inflatable-object-related reasons
  • whipped out her dagger
  • portrait of a marriage in trouble
  • very-large-scale sculptures of robots
  • rise out of the mud like a lotus flower

Tune in next time part 843      Click Here for Earlier Installments

How could I possibly choose a winner? All of the children were equally, adorably, untalented. I closed my eyes, and pictured my mind as a fertile field, hoping that an idea would rise out of the mud like a lotus flower. My thoughts were so disordered that, instead, the only things to erupt from the soggy earth were very-large-scale sculptures of robots, ready for battle.

Unable to resist Fleur’s hypnotic command any longer, I mumbled into the microphone,

“In third place is Yolanda’s son — Not that one, but the other one.

In second place is Olga’s daughter — in the dress her mother bought her.

And in first, babe of Isolde — pick one from her numbers untold.”

There were gasps and cheers and boos. I could tell from one glance at Fleur that our relationship was the very portrait of a marriage in trouble. I should have chosen one of her children as the winner, but I didn’t, and now she whipped out her dagger.

“Watch where you’re waving that thing,” I cried. “We’re in a zeppelin!”

Her lips twitched in the faintest smile. “Fool! I will deal with you later. For now I will only use my dagger for the most boring, non-inflatable-object-related reasons.”

The cake replica of the zeppelin was brought onstage, and Fleur drove her blade straight into it, cutting off a large chunk to present to Isolde.

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Retirement Celebration Finale: Greenland

Rounding out our epic adventure:  a couple of days in Greenland (!). The coastline is stunning. We saw dozens of waterfalls and glaciers, and even an iceberg calving from a glacier.

Prince Christian Sound

 

Icebergs

 

Kent brought home a few beers from the local brewery, Qajaq. We learned how to say “Thank you” in Greenlandic (Qujanaq). We touched an itty bitty iceberg that had washed up on a beach. And yeah, that means that the last time we were at the beach was in Greenland. No bigs.

Open air museum in Nanortaliq, modern stone carvings in Qaqortoq, the thriving metropolis of Qaqortoq, adorable octopus seesaw

 

Our travels concluded, we returned home. Lady Marzipan and the Bandit Lord were very happy to see us. We had every intention of jumping straight into work on As-Yet-Untitled Ghost Novel #2, but that didn’t quite work out. Inertia is a thing, yo.

The Evil Hypnotist

  • by Kentno way he spent his imprisonment just twiddling his thumbs
  • a track meet that had gotten out of control
  • at the height of her glorious sexiness
  • the name by which you wish to be called
  • fully clothed throughout the poem

Tune in next time part 842      Click Here for Earlier Installments

The evil hypnotist Jim meant had to be Ludwig “Wiggy” Wittgenberg. He did bear more than a passing resemblance to my wife, and was indeed quite deranged. Of course it didn’t matter if Fleur looked like any particular serial killer or evil hypnotist, but the comment prompted me to wonder where Wiggy had landed after serving time for his assorted deranged deeds. There was no way he spent his imprisonment just twiddling his thumbs, so in all likelihood he emerged far more dangerous than he went in.

I knew why Fleur didn’t want to handle selecting the winner. This talent show was like a track meet that had gotten out of control and no one knew who had the starter’s pistol anymore. Whoever chose the winner was going to make one baby’s momma very happy, and make a whole bunch of enemies in the process. I couldn’t believe that she, even being at the height of her glorious sexiness, expected to talk me into such a fool’s gambit. Of course she wasn’t talking, just staring at me and doing something with her thumbs. She was… twiddling them.

“You will come up on stage,” she said. I was horrified to find myself rising from my seat. She laughed as I made my way onto the stage.

My throat constricted when I tried to speak, but I rasped out a question. “What is the name by which you wish to be called? Are you Fleur, or are you Wiggy?”

The only answer I got was a smirk. Then she said, “You’re going to reveal the winner, and you’re going to do it in rhyme. And remember that there are children present, so kindly remain fully clothed throughout the poem.”

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I Shrugged Pointedly at Fleur

  • by jenNo, a different deranged man.
  • Can we talk about how close you and your plumber are
  • a strange and curious inscription
  • “Silver Thursday”
  • it’s a competitive world

Tune in next time part 841      Click Here for Earlier Installments

I shrugged pointedly at Fleur. Infant talent shows are their own world, and, believe me, it’s a competitive world. I refused to jeopardize my own safety by being the one to declare the winner, not after that whole “Silver Thursday” debacle from my Academy days. My wife and her sister cooked up this whole escapade. Let them figure it out.

Fleur’s glare etched a strange and curious inscription in the air, leaving no doubt that she was displeased. I hadn’t seen a look like that since our honeymoon when she ambushed me with a big “Can we talk about how close you and your plumber are?” conversation, having mistaken a picture of Tessa in her Sexy Super Mario costume for the real thing.

Tessa leaned in and whispered, “Your wife looks like a serial killer.”

On my other side, Jim shook his head. “No, a different deranged man. An evil hypnotist, maybe.”

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Retirement Celebration Part 3: Iceland

Just south of the Arctic Circle is Iceland, which is where our travels took us next. We spent about a week, and went the whole way around. The last big trip we took pre-Covid included Iceland, and it was nice to return and see some new parts of the country. Still no Northern Lights, though. There just wasn’t much darkness at night. We’ll have to go back in the winter and keep our fingers crossed.

Clockwise from upper left: Viking ship sculpture “Sun Voyager”  in Reykjavik waterfront, Harpa Concert Hall in Reykjavik, fence made out of a whale skeleton in Djupivogur, a Thai food delivery hearse

 

Iceland is like another planet. They have volcanoes, glaciers, hot springs, boiling mud pots, geysers, ice caves, and black sand beaches. We can’t recommend it highly enough. The people are really nice, too. At a charity shop in the Westfjords we found a stash of used vinyl, which our younger son collects. Our Icelandic is severely lacking, so we’re not sure exactly what we bought for him. (We opted not to buy the one record with a title in English, a gospel group from Allentown PA.)

Godafoss waterfall, the surface of Mars (aka sulphur vents), black sand beach

 

We had one more epic stop before returning home. Read all about it next week.

Whatever His Faults

  • by Kenttouch the cake with their filthy hands
  • ran out of urine
  • — all those beautiful bullfrogs
  • “If you wanna eat ‘em, ya gotta listen to ‘em first.”
  • giggling as he tempts fate

Tune in next time part 840      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Whatever his faults — and they were many — Chad was a skilled argumentarian and I was quickly backed into a corner trying to justify my decree. We struck a compromise whereby I pretended that what I’d meant all along was a cake in the shape of the zeppelin, not the literal airship itself. The mothers were disappointed in me (and not for the first time).

Fleur sent Chad away to direct the preparation of this scaled-down prize. The devious look on his face as he accepted this task made me uncomfortable. Contrarian confectionery is its own kink, and I cringed at the idea that any bakers on this vessel were going to touch the cake with their filthy hands. The flavor might be palatable assuming they ran out of urine. There would of course be an algae-clogged pond in the kitchen where the frogs — all those beautiful bullfrogs — would serenade the vile pastry chefs. They have a saying: “If you wanna eat ’em, you gotta listen to ’em first.”

And worst of all, the decorator, whose job would be to create a convincing likeness of the Royal Contrarian Airship out of buttercream and fondant. I could just see the madman, giggling as he temps fate with some outlandish improvised coloring additive.

With the prize defined, all that remained was the actual declaration of the winner. Fleur was, of course, still looking archly at me.

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Not Only Did the Answer Float Before Me

  • by jensuggesting its author is a liar
  • Chad’s such a dingus
  • but I’ll be ding-danged if I’ll let just anyone
  • hideous hellbirds
  • “Wow! Whoopee! A zeppelin!”

Tune in next time part 839      Click Here for Earlier Installments

Not only did the answer float before me, it floated all around me. I was in fact riding inside it as it floated through the sky. “The winner,” I proclaimed, “shall receive the title to this zeppelin.” That ought to teach Fleur not to put me on the spot.

Around me the mothers were chattering excitedly. “Wow! Whoopee! A zeppelin!”

Fleur’s face turned redder than the most hideous hellbirds in the mural painted on the auditorium’s ceiling. She muttered under her breath (but straight into the microphone, so I couldn’t help but hear), “He thinks he’s so funny, but I’ll be ding-danged if I’ll let just anyone have my airship.” She ground her teeth for a moment, then bellowed, “Chad!”

I groaned. Chad’s such a dingus. But he also happens to be the Royal Contrarian Airship’s pageant coordinator. He appeared from the wings and Fleur instructed him to read the bylaws governing airborne infant talent shows. Chad knew who signed his paychecks, so of course he had Fleur’s back. He read aloud the section on prizes, his wording suggesting I was its author, his tone suggesting its author is a liar.

Like I said, dingus.

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Retirement Celebration Part 2: Svalbard

Perhaps you haven’t heard of Svalbard. That’s understandable. It’s a lonely Norwegian archipelago in the Arctic Ocean, far, far above the Arctic Circle. Longyearbyen, the town we visited on the island Spitsbergen, is the world’s northernmost settlement with a population over 1000 (it’s got about 1700). It’s located at 78° North latitude, a mere 813 miles from the North Pole. And take it from us, it’s a trip. Midnight sun! Polar bears! Santa’s abandoned coal mine home!

Longyearbyen is in the polar bear protection zone, so you’re allowed to wander around on your own. At the edge of town you encounter polar bear warning signs, and you’re not permitted beyond that point without some flash-bangs and a rifle (or a guide with those things). And you’re not allowed to carry a rifle without a Norwegian license.

If you have heard of Svalbard, it’s probably because it’s the home of the Global Seed Vault. We sort of got to see it. The day was extremely foggy, meaning our guide couldn’t guarantee there were no polar bears lurking nearby, meaning we weren’t allowed out of the vehicle.

Coal tramway support, explorer statue, You Are Now Leaving the Polar Bear Protection Zone

 

Jen got a nasty case of polar mania and waded barefoot in the Arctic Ocean. Kent was smart enough to keep his shoes on. Jen is proud to say she still has all her toes.

One of our novels takes place partially on Svalbard, so this part of the trip technically counted as research. Now that we’re home we need to go in and tweak some descriptions, enrich the prose with our lived experience.

Jen’s toes – a sundial that is accurate even when the sun never sets – the closest we got to a polar bear was this dog (named Tequila), at a cafe called Huskies – the bustling metropolis of Longyearbyen

The photo in the lower left has a lot going on. There’s the snowmobile trail sign (Scooterløype), a glacier hiding in the clouds between the two mountains, and, halfway up the mountain on the left, the abandoned coal mine (Mine 2B) where Svalbard’s children are told Santa lives. Yeah. It’s not a lot to look at, but in the winter they put lights in it, so there’s that.

We saw many of the world’s northernmost things. Northernmost sundial: see photo above. Northernmost car dealer: Toyota. Northernmost gas station: Circle K (seriously). Northernmost brewery: Svalbard Bryggeri (Kent recommends the Spitsbergen Stout).

Since we’d pretty much run out of North, we concluded our visit to Svalbard and headed south.

To be continued next week.