My Time in the Sewer

  • by jenyou are a murderess or something
  • “Rouse yourself, my dear girl.”
  • I’m afraid that our hunt’s over
  • cudgeling his brain for some pretext
  • captured by a group of angry citizens

Tune In Next Time Part 18                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

My time in the sewer does not bear speaking of. Suffice it to say that I made my way through the filthy pipe all the way to its outlet into the sea. I then spent a few minutes scrubbing myself clean with saltwater. Or as clean as one can get that close to raw sewage.

As luck would have it, my flume ride of effluent deposited me only a mile down the beach from the pier I’d been trying to reach anyway. I swam along parallel to the shore, dragging the submersible digging machine along. I arrived at the pier as the sun peeked over the horizon. I’d have to work fast if I wanted to claim my prize without being captured by a group of angry citizens.

The roar of an outboard motor cut through the crashing of the waves and there they were, John and Tessa, in a new zodiac, closing in on the pier. The engine cut out and I heard John say, “Rouse yourself, my dear girl.”

Tessa stretched and yawned as she sat up. With their attention on the pilings and the waves, neither had noticed me yet. I had one chance.

I took a huge breath and dove down to the bottom, the weight of the digging machine making my descent dangerously fast. I embedded its nose into the sandy bottom in the spot where I thought the treasure was most likely to be buried, and turned it on.

Sand and seashells and little bits of pulverized fish flew up in a gory tornado behind the machine, chumming the water and cutting visibility to zero. My lungs ached for air like a man cudgeling his brain for some pretext to explain away his Ashley Madison account.

The light on my underwater digging machine turned from green to red, the signal that it had found something. I shoved it aside and stuck my hands down into the hole it had made. They closed around a metal box. I yanked it free from the seabed and kicked for the surface.

When my head broke through to the air, I took a very noisy breath. Tessa, mere yards away, spotted me immediately and said to John, “I’m afraid that our hunt’s over.” Looking back at me she said, “Is this close enough to the East River for you, you bastard? You should know by now that I’m nobody’s poodle.”

“No Tessa, you’re no poodle. You are a murderess, or something even worse.”

I stared her down as I treaded water, holding the metal box just below the surface of the rolling waves. And then I spotted the dorsal fins. Sharks, attracted, no doubt, by the fresh fish smoothie my digging machine had blended up.

Damn.

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Manuscript Out of Order

r-avatarThere’s no rule that scenes must be written chronologically. There are cases, though, where that’s what works best. Scenes that link tightly, places with fast pacing, or sections of the outline that leave things a little too vague (yup, that even happens here in the writing cave sometimes).

Our current chronology constraint has to do with the emotional tenor of the material. To know how the characters should treat each other in Scene D, we must first write Scene C, which is dependent on Scene B, and ultimately Scene A. None of which is an issue for a solo author; the scenes all have to get written at some point. But when two people are coordinating their efforts, it becomes a problem.

This longish series of interdependent scenes impacted our workflow by interfering with our usual habit of divvying up the work so Kent and Jen both have scenes to write. Those four scenes became a one-lane bridge, because the work in the queue had to be assigned to one person.

By happenstance, the scenes in question were assigned to Kent. (Actually, they were assigned that way by Jen, but there was nothing malicious about it.) This somewhat aggravated our workflow dilemma because he is the less-speedy member of the writing team. It started to seem like Jen might be stranded on her side of the river for quite some time.

Fortunately, Jen is resourceful. While Kent wrote all those scenes, she flitted throughout the first draft to take care of things we had in our notes. Punching up theme, keeping the continuity in line, honing the characters’ voices. Now we have that much less to worry about when it’s time for a second draft. And Kent has passed the baton; now it’s Jen’s turn to write the next scene, if she can remember how.

 

Now I Remembered

  • k-avatarPossibly NSFW
  • sitting in the bathtub sucking her thumb
  • plopping into the sewer below
  • versus when I don’t
  • running with scissors wasn’t smart

Tune In Next Time Part 17                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Now I remembered. The 7 train ran under Tessa’s old neighborhood. I couldn’t help picturing her sitting in the bathtub sucking her thumb, batting her lashes and beckoning for me to join her. But she had moved to a nicer place out in the suburbs years ago. Her lashes were batting again as we rode the subway. We were alone in this train car. What was she up to now?

“Tessa,” I started, but I didn’t say more. Something was amiss. I felt we weren’t alone after all. The train’s motion caused a discarded newspaper to rustle. I looked more closely at the heaps of garbage arrayed throughout the compartment. My natural suspicious nature is keener when I have people actively trying to kill me versus when I don’t, and right now I was suspecting everyone. Especially Tessa.

Just as I feared, the detritus in the subway car concealed yet more ninjas. These were not from Ninja-Vision. They were one of the mercenary dojos. Possibly NSFW. The Ninja Society of Furtive Warfare wouldn’t ask why Tessa wanted to hire them. But I did.

“Why?”

“How did you know it was — hic — me?”

“You can drop the act. You really were scared back there, with ninjas you hadn’t hired about to pounce on us. Yet your hiccups didn’t go away — because they were fake all along!”

“Ninjas! Attack!” she screamed. If running with scissors wasn’t smart, then running with a submersible digging machine on a moving train was something there’s no word for. But it’s what I did. I turned on the machine and brandished it at the ninjas whenever their camouflage faltered.

The train braked hard and I lost my balance, falling onto the digging machine. It sliced through the floor and plunged straight through the tracks of the subway tunnel, boring downward with me still hanging on, eventually plopping into the sewer below.

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These Ninjas Were Even More Deadly

  • by jenboarded the 7 train
  • spoon in hand
  • locked away in a gunmetal gray filing cabinet
  • the hole where their feelings used to be
  • It was infinitely pitiful

Tune In Next Time Part 16                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

These ninjas were even more deadly than your garden-variety ninjas. Their overlords, Ninja-Vision, had a wicked and ruthless indoctrination technique which left them with hyper-sensitive senses and an impenetrable blackness in the hole where their feelings used to be. All of their secrets were locked away in a gunmetal gray filing cabinet in Michiko’s office. She’d shown me the training manual once when I asked how she stayed so fit.

“Show them we’re unarmed!” Tessa cried as the leader bounded onto the hood of the car, spoon in hand.

“Show them we’re not Michiko!” I yelled back.

In no time the lead ninja used his spoon like a can opener to remove the pink and white roof from our Hello Kitty mobile. Just as he was about to end our lives with that same commonplace utensil, he noticed that neither of us was the Harajuku girl from the self-storage place, the rebellious daughter of their leader. He checked his attack just in time, the spoon landing harmlessly between Tessa and myself.

“Flee,” he whispered in my mind’s ear.

I scrambled out of the car, dragging Tessa with me. We barely had time to rescue the underwater digging apparatus from the backseat before the rest of the ninja swarm set about destroying the Lincoln as a message to Michiko.

As we fled down Elliptical Avenue, I took one last look over my shoulder at the remains of the car. It was infinitely pitiful to behold, and the ninjas were already gone, along with their giant mobile TV headquarters.

“This way!” Tessa pulled me down the stairs to the subway where we boarded the 7 train.

“But Tessa,” I said. “This train doesn’t go to the pier.”

“I –hic– know,” she purred.

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Q&A with Kayne Milhomme

r-avatarThis week we’re honored to share interview with our friend Kayne Milhomme. Kayne has experience with literary agents, and editors, and in self-publishing. His historical mystery, Grace and Disgrace, came about via a collaborative process. We asked him to talk about that with us.

 

qCongrats on your debut, Grace and Disgrace. Plug your book, dude!

a

Thanks! First off, it is my debut novel (as noted above). I hope it is as fun to read as it was to write. So far it’s getting great reviews from readers on Amazon and Goodreads, which is very encouraging.

Below is a brief blurb. Interested in more? Check it out!

In their college days, three friends created the Sleuthhound Club to solve local mysteries and crimes, but only one of the friends turned that early hobby into a career. Inspector Touhay of the Royal Irish Constabulary has seen a lot of action in his line of business, including the infamous crime that ruined his reputation—the amazing theft of the Templar Diamond.

Now six years after the theft, new evidence comes to light as key players (including Touhay) receive mysterious invitations to “The Chase” for the missing Diamond. And who better to help Tuohay find the missing artifact than the members of his old club?

Danger, betrayal, puzzles and ploys abound in this turn-of-the-century mystery novel, which will keep you guessing up until the very end.

 

qYou and your father have an interesting writing partnership. Can you describe how it works?

a

First, I’d like to give a little background about my dad. He has always had a passion for history, and his passion is infectious. When he discovers something that interests him, he’ll dig—and dig, and dig—until he has uncovered nearly every stone connected to his discovery. Then he shares it—on his history blog, in the local newspaper, Facebook updates (with links to his blog and/or newspaper articles), or on long walks in the woods—you name it. His research typically involves uncovering the stories of remarkable individuals that the annals of history have somehow missed, to bring their stories to life—and through that effort, bring the time period and their settings to life as well, truly recreating the moment in history.

Thus, when it comes to a partnership, my dad foremost brings motivation and a source of positive energy that casts a warm ray of sunlight on my writing endeavors. In the earliest stages of a project, his excitement at the future prospect is fuel for the work ahead. Together we will brainstorm ideas, and then our paths will diverge—my dad will begin researching historical elements of the ideas (ranging from to the very specific to the very broad), as I begin some writing samples. Typically, new ideas sprout from both the research and some of the writing samples, and after several iterations we are ready for launch (i.e. to begin chapter writing). As the chapter writing unfolds, my dad acts as reviewer, reading each chapter after completion, and providing feedback. Concurrently, he is providing additional research on items for future chapters, as they are identified. As we move further into the novel, I typically get a firmer grasp on the plot (and by this point the character voices are usually defined), and my dad’s role switches gears to true readership—and he becomes the first reader to try to figure out the mystery that he had a hand in creating the first elements of, but I have finalized in my later stage plot development.

So the partnership is very fluid, with partnered brainstorming and plot development in the early stages, research performed by my dad throughout the novel, writing performed by me and reviewing from a reader’s perspective with some line editing as well from my dad, and then a full assessment after the first draft is completed. It’s a wonderful partnership!

 

qHow did your writing partnership begin?

a

Several years ago I was working on a few ‘high fantasy’ novels, and as fun as they were to write, I couldn’t quite get them to connect for me into something meaningful. I enjoyed the writing, but didn’t know what I was trying to write about—other than entertainment, what was the theme? The purpose? And this void, so to speak, had nothing to do with the fantasy genre, it was simply driven by my inability to find meaning in my own work. During this timeframe, my dad and I went for one of our biannual walks in the woods by the lake at my parents’ house. During that walk, my dad talked about a research project he had been working on—a turn-of-the-century priest who had supposedly committed suicide under mysterious circumstances, and, based on my dad’s research, had been a real rabble rouser in the Catholic Church, to the point of excommunication and taking the archbishop to court (an unheard of event in turn-of-the-century Boston). The long and short it was that I became infatuated with the story, and asked my dad if we could create a fictional account of the events as a historical mystery novel. He enthusiastically agreed and off we went.

 

qWhat are some of the challenges you’ve run into collaborating in a creative endeavor?

a

The main challenge that I run into in this creative collaboration is holding up my end of the bargain in a consistent manner. As a writer, there are times when I hit the doldrums—less so when a novel is underway, but certainly during the early stages. I liken it to having a training partner for a marathon—in order for you both to succeed, you both have to work at it on a consistent basis, with little to no room for ‘slacking’. The good news is that the exact challenge that makes this collaboration work—due to the fact that I feel a need to ensure I am holding up my end of the bargain, I will find myself writing in a more focused and consistent manner than I would alone. Also, and perhaps it is the nature of our relationship, I have absolutely no issues with sharing creative ideas and brainstorming with my dad. Others have given me feedback (typically these are individuals that do not partner on these types of endeavors on a consistent basis) that they have trouble collaborating on creative endeavors, because creativity is something that is precious to them as individuals, and they have a hard time choosing one individual’s idea over another’s. I think that obstacle somewhat outrageous, in fact, and while creative collaborations are not for everyone or for every art form, it can be an enormously beneficial enterprise that is likely underutilized.

 

 

qAre you a planner or a pantser? What about what you look for in a partner: is it ‘birds of a feather’ or ‘opposites attract’?

a

If it’s possible to put myself somewhere in the middle, I would. I do not plot out a novel in significant detail prior to beginning. That said, I do identify the critical plot points, especially those that are important to the mystery. I also will capture the nature and motive of the crime, the red herrings, the hard evidence, and an idea of how all of that gets revealed—but in very general terms. What truly drives the story for me is character, and once the character(s) have “come to life,” I let them take me on the ride as I sit in the back and occasionally give directions.

In a partner, it is again somewhere in the middle. I imagine each partnership is likely different in terms of the strengths that the individuals draw upon, and in some cases it is ‘birds of a feather,’ and in others ‘opposites attract.’ In our partnership, is more along the lines of complementary skill sets (a writer, a researcher—both idea generators), a unified vision (write an entertaining, meaningful novel), and always having fun while doing it. The third one is key, because writing is a passion of mine, and research is a passion for my dad—if we are not having fun at our passions, something’s gone wrong.

 

qAnything else you’d like to teach us about collaborative writing?

a

Be open minded about it. Like I stated in an answer to one of the above questions, I believe many ‘creative types’, especially writers, journey through their creative life solo. For some, that’s the way it has to be, and the way they are at their best. But for others, collaboration could open doors that they never imagined. That said, it has to be a true partnership to work. If you don’t have patience (and I know some creative types that do not), and if you are entirely unreliable (also know some creative types like this), you may need to work on those foundational principles before delving into a partnership—because there is a level of expectation that comes with a good partnership, and you only do it justice if you are willing to perform at that level of requirement.

 

Tessa Let Go of the Steering Wheel

  • k-avatargirlfriend and your sister
  • Well, do you want to follow their path?
  • We had a TV exactly like this
  • began to pick the dust and rocks off them
  • you should always have something baking

Tune In Next Time Part 15                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa let go of the steering wheel and said, “How are we going to do that? That’s a long con.”

Her exasperation seemed to have cured her hiccups, but even so I smiled. “John himself taught me this: you should always have something baking. I’ve had him ‘walking the poodle’ for over a year now.” I steadied the wheel to keep our huge, sparkling car on course in the parade. “Should be a piece of cake to get him over to the river, as it were.” I winked.

“Wait a second — I’m the poodle? This is as bad as the time you introduced me as both your girlfriend and your sister to the same relatives at your cousin’s wedding!”

“They weren’t my relatives, they were on the groom’s side. And you embarrassed me too, when you began to pick the dust and rocks off them.”

“I only did that to be polite.”

I took a deep breath. “Anyway, my poodle, this is the only way.” During our argument the parade had inched along until we were almost upon the Y-intersection at Circle Square. We’d be able to edge our way out on the right fork, onto Elliptical Avenue and out of the Macabre procession. “Well, do you want to follow their path?” I asked Tessa, gesturing ahead. With a shake of her head, she took the wheel again and diverted us to the right.

But we had to stop, not because of the crowd lining the route but because another float had pulled off before us and blocked the road. It was a boxy thing the size of a house, bearing a convex window that took up the entire side facing us, through which we saw people dressed as ninjas bouncing on a trampoline inside.

We had a TV exactly like this,” Tessa remarked.

Suddenly the giant television screen flipped open and the ninjas bounded out. Michiko’s sworn enemies, Ninja-Vision, had found us!

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Those Erotic Hiccups

  • by jen(yeah, I sleep naked at home — so what?)
  • — the matter is laid before me
  • probably some electric phenomenon
  • wearing a multi-layered chiffon skirt
  • walk a poodle along the East River

Tune In Next Time Part 14                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Those erotic hiccups, probably some electric phenomenon in her brain caused by the time Tessa got a shock while we were doing it in a tank of electric eels, were a huge distraction. I tried to block the thoughts of our aquarium escapade, only to have them replaced by memories of the time the electric blanket shorted out during one of our sweatier encounters. That time Tessa had been wearing a multi-layered chiffon skirt, I had been naked (yeah, I sleep naked at home — so what?) and we both got quite a jolt.

“Hic!”

“Hold the wheel steady, Tessa, I need to close my eyes for a minute.”

“O-hic!-kay”

I had to meditate on the plan. I turned on cruise control to maintain our 5 mph speed. As soon as Tessa had the steering wheel I dropped my hands to my knees in the Gyan Mudra pose and boom — the matter is laid before me in perfect clarity. I can see around all the corners, anticipate every potential pitfall, predict John’s most likely actions.

I held my thoughts in order and slowly opened my eyes.

“The first thing we need to do,” I said to Tessa, “is make John walk a poodle along the East River, if you know what I mean.”

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The Hidden Dangers of Fiction Writing

r-avatarEver hear of sleep paralysis? It’s a terrifying state between sleep and wakefulness where you are starting to become aware of your surroundings, but your muscles are frozen like they are when you’re dreaming. It often feels like there’s a menacing presence in the room, looming over you, or even pressing down on you.

Sleep paralysis is the origin of stories about ghosts and succubi and other nocturnal monsters, and can also probably be blamed for more modern tales of alien intruders.

In the past Jen suffered from sleep paralysis, so when it came time to write about one of our unlucky characters having an episode, she stepped in to provide the vivid details.

Which it turns out was not a good idea. After not having any sleep paralysis events for several years, she got hit with one after writing the scene.

Luckily for Jen, she sleeps in the same bed as her writing partner. After Jen’s total freakout, Kent got up and did a perimeter sweep, making sure there were no lurking bad guys in the bedroom. And then he came back to bed and let Jen cling to him for the rest of the night.

Drawing on real experiences is a way to add power to your prose, and getting the words out can even help put past pain behind you (e.g., therapeutic writing). But there can be a dark side to “writing what you know.” Sometimes when you look down into the depths, they look back up at you.

Tessa’s Hiccups Persisted

  • k-avatarthe man with the severed leg
  • just another Tuesday
  • couldn’t actually read the sweatshirt
  • (just “Uncle Terry” being Uncle Terry)
  • partially tattooed on his elbow

Tune In Next Time Part 13                             Click Here for Earlier Installments

Tessa’s hiccups persisted as we cruised the darkened back streets of the city. I knew Michiko had enemies, and her unsubtle car might draw unwelcome attention on the boulevards. I was grateful for the narrow lanes I had to guide the huge car through, because the tight quarters demanded my attention, kept me from becoming too distracted by what those hiccups meant.

“Oh, crap,” I muttered.

“The parade,” Tessa said.

Where our tiny side-street debouched onto the main thoroughfare, sawhorses and hay bales blocked our path. I approached the barrier slowly, thinking we might be able to shift things aside and sneak through before the parade began.

And in any other town that might have been reasonable. But the weekly Macabre Misfits parade was in full swing, as it would be for 24 hours. To the double-M, this was just another Tuesday.

There wasn’t room to open the car door, so I rolled down the window and climbed out. Jugglers were passing, throwing mannequin limbs back and forth. I hoped. The man with the severed leg in his hand glanced at me, and although I couldn’t actually read the sweatshirt he wore I did notice a subversive slogan partially tattooed on his elbow.

Tessa had emerged as well, and the man seemed surprised to see her.

“Hi, — hic — Terry. Sorry we’re late,” she said, dropping me a wink. “Think your troupe can sorta — hic — vamp for a while so we can get our — hic — float out of this alleyway?”

The man bowed to us, then rallied the rest of the jugglers to hold a space in the parade while we got the barricade out of the way.

“He — hic — does this every week,” Tessa explained. “My third cousin or something, but he’s older so — hic — I always thought he was my uncle. The — hic — limb-juggling is his passion (just “Uncle Terry” being Uncle Terry). Shall we?”

The parade was even heading in the right direction. But it was so slow.

Tessa’s hiccups persisted.

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Kanye Can See Things

  • by jensee things we mortals cannot
  • I spat at her
  • not, however, universally popular among actual rappers
  • Officious little prick.
  • not a significant source of riboflavin

“Kanye can see things we mortals cannot,” I spat at her, “and according to him Wild Puma energy drink is not a significant source of riboflavin. It may be popular with teenagers, it is not, however, universally popular among actual rappers because they listen to Kanye. And that is why I refuse to stock it in my store.”

The Wild Puma sales rep sneered at me. “Officious little prick.

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